That Which Is Forbidden
by Tilthanial
Summary: How does a man know when he crossed the line? When does he realize that his soul has tasted the sweet nectar of heresy and found it more wonderful and compelling than what he had feared it would be? Louk Shannegh, a hive-born scoundrel in service to Inquisitor Helsing of the Ordo Xenos, is faced with these questions in the aftermath of a battle for the Imperial planet Tenea.
1. An Old Man And His Thoughts

**_Disclaimer(s):  
_First of all, for those loyal Kane followers that are tearing your hair out in frustration at my posting a new 40k story while being so slow with updating Purified by Cold-Fire, I apologize. This story has been bouncing through my head for months and I just had to sit down and start playing with it to see where it goes. It is again Inquisition-centric (because heresy is so much fun), but going to be more of a dramatic piece than an action one. The first couple chapters will be chock full of violence and righteous smackdown, however the overall story is going to be more person-oriented. I had actually planned for this to be a Kane story, but I couldn't reconcile the plot to his character, so I decided to create a whole new cast. Though you may or may not catch a subtle reference to Kane's stories every now and again.  
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**Second, this is going to be another somewhat experimental piece because I am still woefully unlearned in 40k non-Guard lore. I've been chugging through Gaunt's Ghost series for a few months but quite frankly I keep having to put the books down every time a character dies. I don't have this problem with other books/stories/movies, etc... but for some reason I just go ballistic when 40k writers kill (or otherwise horribly screw over) characters. It seriously drives me nuts, which I admit is contradictory because my characters have the life expectancy of a grox in a 'Nid invasion.  
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**Third, I think I should give _Advicepuppy_ some recognition for his story Suffer not the Xenos to Live. I'm pretty sure I read the first chapter or so of Suffer when he posted it back in 2011. That may or may not have planted the seed of this story in my head (I honestly can't remember). Either way, it's a great story and I am more than willing to give credit to him for this concept.  
**

**If you have questions, comments, concerns, or ideas, leave them in a review.**

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**Iora, Tenea**

The sun cast its last golden rays over the Kylin mountains, bathing the city of Iora in fiery light. Humming solar generators filled the low streets with a pleasant buzz. Two hours from now they would all be silent, unable to glean more light from the set sun. But for now it was a soothing hymn that helped him rest in his chair on the porch. He could not remember the first time he sat here. It seemed like ages.

Louk Shannegh was an old man. His bone were frail, his body scarred from years of service in the Imperium's various institutions. Nothing organic remained below his left knee; thirty years before it had been replaced by a simple prosthetic after the bionic replacement failed to meld. Three of the fingers on his right hand had similar replacements, as did half of the organs in his chest. Synthetic lungs, synthetic kidneys, rubber intestines… he was more machine than man now. Service to the Emperor was not kind.

His weary eyes gazed past the bustling city below him, past the tall marble walls of Tenea's jewel city, and past the empty fields that had once known the horrors of war. The Kylin mountains drew his eyes as surely as heresy drew the Church. His time on those mountains had been short, mere days that seemed utterly inconsequential to his lifespan, but so very powerful. It was in those mountains that he had learned so much about himself, about the Imperium.

Every night he came to this chair, stared at the mountains, and remembered. It was a quiet place, high above the distractions of the world, where he could be free of his life-guard and the stares of Ioran's elite. He knew how they whispered about him, how they looked down on the hive-born scoundrel that now stood equal with them. More than equal, truly, because his was a rank that superseded planetary boundaries. They feared him. They loathed him. They revered him.

How odd it must have seemed to them, he mused, to have a man of his history seeking to come back to the very place that had nearly been his undoing. To dwell on the mistakes of his past and the crimes he had committed for and against the Emperor's name. He knew enough of their culture to understand they strove to hide their sins, to bury them and cast them as far as possible. That was not his way. He knew the value of the past, what it taught and how it shaped the future.

A soft knock on the patio door alerted him to the presence of his life-guard. Jaycel Gunferth eased the creaky wooden door inwards and stuck his head out. He was a serious young man, would have been handsome if not for the constant grimace that had been permanently chiseled into his features. His brooding hazel eyes and educated manners set many a young lass's hearts fluttering in their chests on those few occasions when Shannegh deigned to visit the entertain the Ioran's courts. He managed to effect an air of aloofness in the presence of both kings and paupers, always appearing to have a plan and often knowing more than he let on. He was a devious man, wiser and more ferocious than even Louk himself.

He might have been mistaken for a noble-born were it not for the dozens of tattoos that covered his upper body and arms. As far as Louk could tell, Jaycel recorded his entire life in tattoos. The single-headed aquila over his heart for his one parent. The snarling hydra for the Purge of Persephonus IV.

"Visitor" he stated, his voice flat and uninterested. When Jaycel did have to communicate, he used as few words as possible.

Louk eased his ancient body around until he could see Jaycel standing in the doorway. The younger man had a bored look on his face, but there was a tingle of energy about him that drew Louk's attention. He did not receive many visitors. In fact, in his ten years living in Iora he could still count them on his hands. Well, could have counted them on his hands were it not for his lack of fingers. It should have been a greater occasion than how they treated it. As if it were business as usual.

"Who?"

His life-guard shrugged. "Remembrancer."

"They still have those?" Louk wheezed out a chuckle. The simple effort made his back tense, and the laughter fizzled into a fit of coughing. Jaycel raised an eyebrow in silent question. "No, no, I am fine. Please, let him in. And bring another chair."

The man nodded and disappeared into the house. Content to wait, Louk returned his attention to the mountains. His mind was not as fast as it had once been, but he still retained the acute ability to filter and process information at blazing speeds. It was one of the only talents her still retained at this age.

A remembrancer? What could they want with him? His records, like all those who walked his path, were sealed. Perhaps it was from another of his kind, seeking information but not willing to spend the time to visit an aged and shunned man. Or was it a student of the Forums seeking to discover the truth behind the many rumors about him. He weighed each possibility on the likelihoods and the potentials. At his age he doubted he would live long enough to have regrets. Maybe it was time to reveal the things he had been forced to keep for so long.

The door opened again and Jaycel came out, carrying a chair in one hand and gesturing with the other. He set it down beside Louk and stood back, one hand resting on the butt of the Mark IV pattern laspistol he always wore on his hip. There was no sign of danger in his posture, or any more suspicion than that which he held against all those who were not Louk. A more loyal man he could not have asked for, and he owed Jaycel a great deal. It sometimes pained him, knowing that Jaycel's potential was being wasted guarding a decrepit old man in his final years.

The remembrancer stepped out onto the patio with some hesitation. It was a woman, though it took him a moment to tell because of her heavy robes. She wore her hood low and had a thick cloth wrap over her face. It hid everything but her eyes, which were covered by a reflectionless visor. Thick cotton gloves covered her hands. Every part of her was covered. Did she fear he carried a plague?

"You are a remembrancer" Louk said. She stood silent for a moment, gazing down at him with her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robe. The silence lasted for more than a minute. Confused, Louk glanced past her to Jaycel. The man shrugged.

"Miss?"

"I am sorry" she said, speaking at last. Her voice was sweeter than fine wine, a captivating alto that was both young and ancient at the same time. Louk shivered as the musical tone of her words washed over him. They stirred a host of memories from long ago. "I was… I have heard much about you. It is important that I have an accurate first impression of you."

"I don't think anyone's ever had an accurate first impression of me" Louk cackled. He motioned for her to sit and dismissed Jaycel. His life-guard's grimace deepened at the thought of leaving him alone with this stranger, but he bowed his head and returned inside. Louk had no doubt he would pull up a chair on the other side and sit there with his laspistol on his lap, waiting in case something should go wrong.

When the door closed and the remembrancer was seated he gave her a long and piercing look. "So what can I do for you, Miss…"

"You may call me Seeker."

"Miss Seeker" he repeated, an amused grin crossing his lips. He stared at her visor, wishing he could see the color of her eyes. They must have been far more attractive than the olive-grey shapeless robes she wore. "Where are you from?"

"I… have traveled for many years." She shifted in her chair, hands reappeared with an old-fashioned stylus and notepad. "My home is in the stars."

"A traveler, eh?" Louk nodded. "That can be a good life, especially for one of your kind."

"Yes, it can be." Her voice quavered a little, and she fell silent. He had the vague feeling that she was staring at him again. Her stylus hung over the notepad, waiting to write.

"I'm sorry, please forgive my manners." Louk reached back and rapped the door. "Would you care for refreshments? I would have offered earlier but we do not receive many guests. It is easy to forget our hospitality."

"Your man offered when I first arrived" she said quickly, words spilling out of her mouth. The door opened and Jaycel stuck his head out. He glanced over at Louk, who held up a single finger, and shut the door again.

"Did he now? That's unusually forward of him." Louk eased back against his chair and settled his hands on his lap. "Usually you have to drag that kind of thing out of him. Oh, he's a right gentleman and all, but he doesn't talk much."

As if to prove his point, Jaycel returned with an opened bottle of wine and two glasses on a tray. He set them on the small handtable beside Louk's chair before disappearing again. Louk gave the second glass a pointed look and glanced up at Seeker, but she shook her head.

"More for me then. Hope you don't mind." He poured himself a glass and took a sip, relishing the fiery sensation that tickled his throat on the way down. "So, what can I do for you? Are you hear to see if the rumors are true?"

"Rumors, sir?"

"Take your pick." He stretched out his free hand to encompass the city. "Surely you've heard them if you have come this far. Louk Shannegh the Ork-Hunter, the Prince of the Hive-Born, the Forsaken Inquisitor, Purger of Heresy, Vilest of Sinners…"

"They say you loved an Eldar woman" the remembrancer blurted out, cutting him off midstream. Her voice was rushed, hopeful, fearful, uncertain. Louk blinked slowly, turning back to regard her with surprise.

"Now where" he asked carefully, warning bells sounding in his mind. A slight shift of his leg uncovered the holdout stub pistol tucked between the chair's cushion and its armrest. Jaycel could be on the patio inside of three seconds, about the same amount of time it would take him to reach and draw the weapon. "Did you hear that?"

"I…" Seeker's words trailed off. Her hands remained where they were, clutching the stylus and the notepad. He could have sworn her eyes widened behind the visor at the sudden and unexpected change of attitude.

"That is a very serious accusation to make" Louk growled. "And I know of only a few still living that would know of it."

"Please, sir, I mean you no harm." She set her notepad on her lap and clasped her hands over it. Not a trace of fear in her voice. Nor of subterfuge. "I am simply seeking memories."

"Why that one?"

"Times are changing" she offered. "The Eldar are not held in the same light as they once were. I thought that, perhaps having a tale that... humanizes them, can serve as a lesson to all of mankind. Not all of us see them as the enemy. I hoped that you would be willing to lend your tale, sir."

"Lend my tale…" Louk grimaced and looked back at the mountains. "You are asking a lot. The Inquisition would burn me if I released such information, assuming the rumor is even true."

"The Louk Shannegh that I know would not care what the Inquisition would do."

She spoke the words with such conviction that he chuckled. "And how do you know me, Miss Seeker?"

Again, the remembrancer paused. "I have studied you from afar for some time," was all she said.

"Inquisitor Jadus sent you," Louk guessed. He received silence in reply. "Guess not."

"Please, sir." Her words were filled with hope. "It is not something to be ashamed of."

"Who said I was ashamed?" Louk chuckled. "I don't know the meaning of the word."

"Then will you tell me? Do I have your permission to record the story?"

Louk's laughter faded and he stared at Seeker's visor. Sadness crept through his veins and he gave a bitter smile. "Why would my story be so important?"

"Love conquers all" Seeker replied. There seemed a reflection of his bitter smile in her voice. "Or so they say."

"Yes, well, love couldn't conquer this story." Louk felt a tear threatening to form in his eyes and looked away, back to the mountains. "As you can see by my lack of a companion, it didn't last."

"Just because it did not last does not mean it failed" Seeker persisted. "Few things last, and some of the sweetest are the shortest."

"Five months" Louk said. His throat was tight and he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "That was how long I knew her."

He did not look back, but he heard the scratching of her stylus on the notepad. Why not, he thought to himself. After all, he had kept it bottled inside for so long. It would be good to let it all out.

"You know this story will take time." He tapped the armrest of his chair absently.

"I am in no hurry" she promised. "As long as you need."

"Do you have lodgings here in the city?"

"Not yet."

"Then I must impose on you to remain my guest. I must admit," he risked a looked back at her covered face. "It fills me with pride to have a remembrancer come to my door. And I would be an ungrateful host to force you to seek dwelling at your own expense."

"No, that is entirely…"

"I insist" he said. "Come, there is a spare bedroom on the first floor. Neither Jaycel or I will bother you, and you will have full access to that which is mine."

"I… if you insist." Seeker bowed her head. "You honor me, sir."

"It is you who honor me." He drained his glass and set it on the tray. The liquid courage worked wonders on loosening his throat. "Well then, I think I have wasted enough of your time. So you want to know about the Eldar woman. It started here, on Tenea, just out on those plains you see by the mountains…"


	2. How It Began

**Base Crusader, Tenea, Corinthia System**

The Imperial guns launched the first volley of the pre-assault barrage. Batteries of Basilisk siege cannons fired their colossal 'earthshaker' warheads in teeth-chattering thunderclaps. Interspersed with the thunderous booms came the shrieking whistle of Manticore rocket launches. Low altitude bombers shrilled past, their jet wakes tugging at every scrap of unsecured gear. Rippling vibrations shook the legs of cots and made cups spill and stacked rifles topple. Sleeping men grumbled and scraped for things to plug their ears. Those up and about looked up to watch the planes and shells whip across the morning sky before returning to their work with exasperated grimaces. It became clear within minutes that this was no ordinary barrage. There was a greater purpose in this barrage, a stronger undertone. That could only mean one thing.

General Galveteau was finally making a move to break the stalemate.

The campaign to pacify the xenos conclave on Tenea had begun nine months ago when a routine training flight stumbled upon an unregistered vox tower at the base of the Kylin mountain range. The subsequent investigation ended in disaster when the Tenean PDF scouts were ambushed by what their panicking vox operator described as 'snipers and demons.' The communication cut short before more could be ascertained, but a curious farm-flyer that had caught sight of the distant weapon flashes came forward with picts he took from his plane. To the ignorant and Emperor-fearing peasant, the enemies had appeared as tall men in strange armor. The Planetary Defense Force officers recognized it to be something else entirely. The attackers were not human at all, but warriors of the mysterious and deadly race known as the Eldar.

The Tenean Senate's response had been swift and uncompromising. Each of the ten city-states of Tenea mustered their levies and sent them to Iora, the city-state closest to the xenos. General Galveteau of the Sarmatan militia forces assumed command of the coalition forces and launched what rapidly turned into a bloody campaign to root out the xenos infestation. Initial assaults were met with overwhelming firepower as Eldar warriors, supplemented with thousands of human and other xenos mercenaries, decimated the Tenean soldiers. The campaign ground quickly to a halt as the Teneans found themselves unable to advance. The xenos forces did not attack either, seeming content to remain in the safety of the mountains. The situation devolved into a stalemate.

Seeing that his coalition was outmatched, General Galveteau made the wisest move available: he sent for the Imperial Guard. The initial request described little about the situation, and as various Guard commands replied the General revealed that the threat's origin. He could not have predicted the response he was to receive.

Five Imperial Guard regiments responded to the distress call within a month. When the various commands settled out their rank structures it came to that General Galveteau remained in charge, though the five Colonels retained the autonomy to operate within widely set bounds of command. Each Regiment was assigned to a different area on the front to minimize the chance of inter-unit rivalries from disrupting the overall plan. It was decided with little hesitation that the professional soldiers of the Imperial Guard would take the lead on this campaign. Their higher quality weapons, equipment and training gave them a great advantage over the beleaguered Tenean militiamen. And so the battered Tenean Planetary Defense Force were pulled off the front lines for refitting while the Guard regiments replaced them. In the first two months of fighting the Tenean forces had suffered thirty percent casualties.

Veterans though they were, the Guard regiments found little more success than the Teneans did. The xenos defenses grew stronger with each passing day, and the defenders' tactical maneuvering left many Imperial tacticians envious. They knew without a doubt that xenos witchery played a strong hand in the service of the enemy defenders.

As the Imperial portion of the campaign began to drag on into its second month many tacticians wondered why the xenos remained. Eldar were known for their ability to quietly disappear, but these ones had dug in and refused to leave. Some theorized that the Eldar must have a reason to be in the mountains; perhaps they were digging out some long lost xenos weapon. Others guessed that these xenos did not have a way off planet. Maybe their ship had crashed and they could not leave. The answer became known to General Galveteau and his staff when Commander Rettanen sent a confidential missive from his cruiser, _Pride of Minerva_,stationed in orbit over the battlefield. A courageous strike by the _Pride of Minerva's_ atmospheric fighters had destroyed a suspected Eldar webway gate. Bereft of their mystical gate, the Eldar had nowhere to run. They were well and truly trapped.

The news spread like wildfire despite staff attempts to quell it. The first Inquisitors arrived less than two weeks after the report came out. More followed until over a dozen separate Inquisition teams assailed the General with demands for inclusion in the campaign. It was a rare day that such a large collection of the enigmatic Eldar race could be cornered. The Puritans sought to eradicate all traces of their existence with fire. The more liberal Inquisitors wanted prisoners, artifacts, and knowledge. Needless to say, that in and of itself caused tension as rival Inquisitors met face-to-face and camped beside each other.

The General, unused to such a rush of powerful figures, put a halt to all operations just so he could focus on dealing with the bureaucratic hellstorm that had slammed his command. Pleasing a single Inquisitor was a hard task, but pleasing so many had taken incredible political guile and weeks of maneuvering. Deals were made and unmade, meetings were held in both the middle of the day and the dead of night. Despite his best efforts, it took an entire month to sift through the mess until he had a semblance of order and control over the bickering Inquisitors. Maintaining the peace remained an issue, however. Fights broke out between Inquisitors as well as their henchmen. At least one Inquisitor had been killed by another in some argument gone out of control.

When things finally grew calm enough for General Galveteau to manage, he ordered the renewal of offensive operations. As he and his tacticians had feared, the battle for the Eldar positions grew only more costly. A whole month of calm had given the Eldar and their allies time to reinforce their defenses. Intricate trench networks filled the plains at the base of the mountains. Whole sections of forests had been cut down to give the defenders clear fields of fire against the advancing Imperials. Every cave held an emplaced weapon, and scans showed that kilometers of tunnels had been dug into the Kylins. The Imperial assaults quickly bogged down, and the next three months saw little progress. The Eldar held their ground with a ferocious determination that stymied the Guard at every point.

Throne knew they had tried just about everything to break through the xenos lines. Promethium bombs had burned down what forest remained. So many artillery rounds had struck the mountains that many of the facing slopes had fallen away or been pulverized into dust. Yet still the defenders fought on. They made the Guard pay in blood for every meter of ground. PDF units saw regular rotations off the front lines because of the severe number of casualties they suffered. Even the hardened Guard companies suffered atrocious amounts of dead and wounded battling through tree and rock. Any gaps in their lines were quickly sealed or turned into ambushes. General Galveteau's original unit, the 39th Sarmatan Mechanized, had been wiped out to a man after achieving what was thought to be a breakthrough only to drive their Chimeras straight into a killzone of anti-armor guns. Another time a company of Elysian Airborne attempted landing at the top of the mountain to fight their way down from behind the defenders' positions; three days later the survivors were evacuated under heavy fire after suffering seventy percent casualties. The Eldar were too fast on the draw, too prepared for the Imperial tactics.

For some time there was suspicion of a spy among the Imperial ranks. A thorough rooting through the staff by three Inquisitors and the Commissariat revealed no such travesty. Paranoia continued to mount until General Galveteau's sanctioned psyker aide finally detected the subtle current of Eldar warp magik snaking through the command tent. The witches were scrying them, listening in on their plans even as they were formed. Multiple solutions were rushed to the General and they quickly erected a shield to prevent further spying by the Eldar sorcerers.

That had been five days ago. For the past several months, Louk Shannegh had lounged with the rear echelon units and the rest of Inquisitor Helsing's staff. Those months had been nothing but sheer boredom interrupted by rare trips to the front lines to check on the status of the Eldar defenses. Even then they did little more than at-range flybys in Helsing's Valkyrie, well out of the combat zone. Hotheaded as Helsing was, he knew better than to risk his precious flyer to anti-aircraft missiles launched from the numerous batteries hidden on the mountainside.

The lack of action was getting to him. One time, just one flipping time, Helsing had pulled them out of camp and taken them into a nearby city to investigate a possible xenos sighting. The search had concluded quickly with little in the way of excitement, though he had managed to find a couple scraps along the way. Dredging the bottom of society's social ladder always invited unpleasant altercations. Shannegh may or may not have been responsible for a few entertaining but altogether unnecessary brawls. He would have been lying if he said he was sorry for the trouble it caused. Street-fighting came naturally to him. If he wasn't fighting he was itching.

Shannegh wasn't the only one to dive headfirst into a brawl either. Inquisitor Helsing loved a good fight just as much as he did. Once the punches started flying he could usually be found in the thick of it. Oftentimes there came much lecturing and about responsibility and avoiding trouble, but he hardly cared. There were some things in life worth starting fights over. Watching their prim and proper Praetorian lieutenant roll up her sleeves and go to work with that archaic martial arts form she swore by was one of those things. That woman had legs that just didn't quit.

Another volley rattled the cot. Shannegh cursed under his breath and rolled out onto his feet. There was no point in trying to sleep with those cannons going off just a kilometer away. Glancing around the tent, he took note of who was already up and about. Anna's cot stood empty, as he suspected it would. Eulogy and Jekel were snoring in their bunks, utterly oblivious to the torrent of noise raging outside. Gutterball's ragged pile of blankets shifted in time to his breathing. Dunk'er had wandered off somewhere, probably to watch the 'purdy lights' of the guns. Nicolai stood at the tent flap with Penance, both grimfaced and wearing their battle armor. That was all of the tent-dwellers accounted for.

"Morning" Shannegh muttered as he began shoving himself into his armor. They did not bother responding; their attention lay outside the tent.

Normally he would not have bothered, but Sergeant Nicolai never put his armor on unless he was preparing for battle. This was the first time since going into the city that he had donned his stuffy blue greatcoat and all the shiny paraphernalia that came with the Thracian battledress uniform. Shannegh had questioned more than once the wisdom of wearing such a heavy and cumbersome uniform into battle. It was not quite garish, but it definitely stuck out and the cumbersome weight meant put severe restrictions on the man's mobility. Not that Nicolai ever seemed to mind. Hiding wasn't his specialty anyways. Once the enemy came into sight he was all about search and destroy. And Throne, could he destroy.

The man's weapon of choice was the Merovech pattern assault lasgun. Its dual power pack slots and combat bayonet attachment gave the powerful ex-Guardsman the tools to rampage at both long and short range. Though short range was his favorite of the two. He and his Thracian Guardsmen could usually be found in the hairiest of the fighting where they could hack and stab and shoot to their heart's content. Needless to say, Shannegh preferred to stay away from them once the battle began.

When he finished donning his flak jacket and camo-cloak Shannegh joined the pair. Nodding once to Penance, he eased past them and took a gander outside. The camp was awash with activity. Orderlies and staff ran this way and that, delivering orders to unit commands. Important-looking men and women argued in small groups near various command tents. Their Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.

"S'about time they got this war moving" Shannegh muttered, rubbing his jaw. He could still feel the sting from last night. Next time he found a mirror he would check for bruising. Reminder to self, he thought bitterly. Never insult Dunk'er's mother. Ever. "Boss about?"

"He has not come by this morning" Penance answered. Her lips pursed in a delicate frown that accentuated her button nose and knife-edged chin. "I believe we should rouse the others."

Shannegh stepped back inside the tent and went to fetch his weapons. He slung his lascarbine over his shoulder and began stuffing kit into his combat webbing. When he finished he spent a moment studying his sidearm. If they were going into frontline combat he would have little use for a stealthy autopistol. He considered leaving it behind, but two overriding factors made him snatch it up and slip it into the holster at his hip. One, never leave valuable gear behind, no matter the circumstances. Two, one can never have too much firepower. His serrated combat knife slipped easily into the scabbard over his boot. After giving everything a final patdown check he sat down on his cot and motioned for the others to relax. They didn't.

"If Boss wants us up he'll come get us. Besides, we've been here for months and the General hasn't let a single Inquisitor in on an assault. What makes you think this will be different?"

"The priests were about earlier. _All of them_" Penance murmured. She released the tent flap and sat down beside the entrance, adopting a cross-legged pose. The woman never relaxed except for when she was sleeping. Even then, she slept for a few hours at most, preferring to stand guard over the others. Shannegh did not know the entirety of her story, but he did know that she used to be a Sister. Her body was decorated with dozens of tattoo-removal scars and she carried herself like a machine. Whatever the reason for her departure from the Sisterhood, Shannegh understood that she was still a fierce warrior and loyal as an Astartes to the God-Emperor. She kept her head shaved except when on a mission, and then grew it out in a plaited braid which she shaved off at the conclusion of the job. Something like a trophy, or maybe a reminder of her past sins. Shannegh still did not know what to make of her. Her faith bordered on fanatical, even more so than Nicolai's. That combined with her short temper made for plenty of explosive encounters with less-than-honorable Imperial citizens. Like Shannegh himself, for example. They spent more time arguing than anything else. He could count the times things got so heated that the others had stepped in to break it up on both hands and then some. As he liked to point out whenever it happened, those were not the fights that he went looking for. Penance couldn't stand him, and nothing he said or did could ever change that short of neutering himself and joining a priesthood. Her trigger finger had an eternal itch, and the only thing that held it in check was Inquisitor Helsing.

Now she wore black Arbites-style carapace armor and carried an Accatran pattern Mk XI shotgun as well as a suppression shield. Her armor and her weapons bore numerous penitent seals and the grey shawl around her throat supposedly had been blessed at a Saint's grave. Her heavy armor and close quarters weapons, coupled with her unflagging zeal for the Golden Throne's glory, made her a human-sized tank on the battlefield. She could wade through the fiercest enemy fire, blasting a path with her shotgun as she went. Despite her fervor for closing in with and slaying the heretic and the xenos as quickly as possible, she possessed a keen tactical mind and had incredible control over her fury in battle. She also had the unsettling habit of singing hymns as she fought.

"Giving the morning blessings to all those fools who'll be dead in a few hours?" Shannegh chuckled. "Still has nothing to do with us."

"Maybe not" she said, shooting him a venomous glare at his lack of respect. "But maybe it will."

His response choked off into muttered cursing when Nicolai scooped up his lasgun and slammed the butt against the table. The dull clang reverberated against the sound-absorbent tentcloth, filling Shannegh's ears with an obnoxious buzz. Somehow, and this was a mystery Shannegh had resigned himself to never discovering the truth behind, that particular noise always woke the Praetorians. He couldn't understand how they slept through a Basilisk volley but woke up with the soft thump of a lasgun striking metal. But it worked every time. A stream of high-brow curses exploded from the sleeping officers as they roused from slumber. Their moving about woke Gutterball, who dragged himself out of his blankets with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner waking for his noose-day.

Shannegh rolled onto his side and looked on with an amused grin as the Praetorian soldiers slipped into their uniforms. Lieutenant Eulogy glared at Nicolai as she dressed, clearly put off by the unseemly awakening. She did not like to be woken early from her sleep. The highborn daughter of some noble family, Eulogy had the most mind-boggling standards about the most ordinary things. And she absolutely loathed the man or woman who made her fail those standards. This one being the demand for eight hours of sleep a night when in the rear lines, excepting emergencies. On seeing that there were no raving xenos warriors tearing into the tent, she adopted the air of a woman severely wronged. She took her time dressing, making each move with savage intent that emphasized her displeasure. It might have been a little intimidating from the front, especially the way her cold grey eyes could bear promise to spectacular pain, but from Shannegh's perspective behind her it only served to give him a tantalizing look at the way her supple body recoiled from her angry motions. That ass… damn.

Her senior noncommissioned officer, Sergeant Jekel, was much less lovely to stare at. Jekel was one of those mythological command sergeants that must have been farmed out of a laboratory. He couldn't speak softer than a loud whisper, his posture was always perfect, his sideburns perfectly trimmed, and his gaze never missed a thing. He and Shannegh got on like an Ork and a Valhallan at the best of times because Shannegh represented everything Jekel detested: a lazy, ill-disciplined, wisecracking mercenary.

When he was honest with himself he admitted that most of Helsing's team disliked him for those same reasons.

The Lieutenant and Sergeant came from a special branch of the Praetorian infantry. Called the "Praetorian Rifles," their unit lacked the typical parade-ground tactics that the rest of their Guardsmen were known for. These were the scouts, snipers, sentries and commandos. Instead of bright red and white battle dress they wore forest green jackets and pants. They fought in pairs as opposed to squads, and were some of the finest marksmen that Shannegh had ever seen. Every fourth man had a dedicated sniper rifle, but even their regular riflemen were crack shots. He had seen firsthand how effective their ambushing abilities were thanks to their almost mystical ability to coordinate fire without verbal communication.

The Praetorians had come under Inquisitor Helsing's command after he commandeered their platoon on the chase for an Ork Freebooter who had managed to find a pre-Heresy STC. Most of their unit had been killed over the course of the hunt, and those that survived were permanently reassigned to his staff. A squad's worth of them remained now, though they were stationed two tents over with the other Thracian Guardsmen. Ordinarily Nicolai, Eulogy and Jekel would have billeted with their soldiers, but Helsing had wanted his staff grouped together for easy access. It hardly bothered Shannegh, though he did prefer those special times when he could sleep by himself away from the others. Alone time was a very rare commodity on the campaign trail. Simple things like sleeping away from other human beings could be just as valuable as a month's supply of caf.

When Lieutenant Eulogy finished her angry posturing she turned about the tent to take stock of the situation. On seeing Shannegh's grin her expression soured even further. "Something on your mind, Reaper?"

Reaper. That was what they had taken to calling him. He liked the name, enjoyed the way it rolled off the tongue better than his own name. Not that it was a complimentary nickname; he knew better than to assume that. The blonde-haired Praetorian officer held a special disgust for him and Gutterball and he did not blame her. What were two hiveborn street rats compared to a distinguished and noble infantry officer such as herself? As far as she was concerned they should be honored to take the same air as her. But that wasn't the only reason. It still rankled her awfully that he had saved her life on more than one occasion. Each time he did was like a stain on her honor, and she loathed him the more for that.

"Nah," he rolled over onto his back and interlaced his hands under his head, "just waiting for this party to start."

"P-p-party?" Gutterball's head cocked to the side as he stood. The man's misshapen, rodent-like nose twitched nervously. The Praetorians both took unconscious steps backwards, away from the mutant's presence. "Oh T-T-Throne, are we g-g-going to attack tod-d-day?"

"Try to sound less excited." Shannegh chuckled. "Besides, if we go in you won't be the one taking the fire. It's these heroes that will be catching the lead. You and I will be chilling in the back, waiting it all to blow over."

Which was more or less true. The Thracian Guard and Praetorian Rifles handled the most intense combat, with Penance and Anna providing the special support. Helsing sure knew how to recruit a combat unit, that was for sure. While the Thracian advanced to close quarters with their combat shields locked in phalanx formation the Praetorians would provide suppressing fire with their scoped autoguns. Anna sniped the heavy weapons and leaders. Penance would creep in behind the Thracian formation and join the charge. All the while Dunk'er would sit back and lob grenades, missiles, or whatever support weapon he happened to come across. Shannegh and Gutterball would sit back with Helsing, waiting for the inevitable gap to appear that they could exploit. It was a tactic that they had ironed out over many battles, and it rarely failed.

Lieutenant Eulogy finished buckling her sword belt on and drew her power sword from its scabbard for a test swing. The magnificent saber-style blade hummed with energy as she put it through a simple practice form. She ended the test with a lightning-fast slash that stopped just millimeters from Shannegh's crotch. Again, he was unfazed by the intent. Giving her a lewd wink, he shifted around to get more comfortable and closed his eyes. She deactivated the weapon and returned it to its scabbard.

"I would be correct in assuming that you will be hiding in the rear lines while His Majesty's soldiers take the fight to the xenos?"

It was such an absurdly polite way to phrase the question that Shannegh had to stifle a laugh. He yawned obnoxiously.

"Hey, what I do takes a lot of work. I've got to save my energy for the big boys. Besides, it's done you some good to have me watching your lovely ass for you."

To her credit, the Lieutenant held in the horrified blanch that tried to mar her statuesque features. A subdued 'ah' noise slithered out of the depths of her throat and she turned on her heel, seeking a less embarrassing conversation. Her sergeant had less success. Sergeant Jekel stiffened as if Shannegh had just pissed on his father's grave. His hand was reaching for the parade baton clasped under his shoulder when Nicolai's voice cut through the tent.

"Clear the way. Anna's back."

Still glowering at Shannegh, Jekel lowered his hand and stepped aside. This was another reason why the two hated each other so much. Shannegh's unsubtle come-ons to his commanding officer drove the man to rages. The thought of a lowborn scum like himself entertaining such fantasies must have been punishable by death or some such on their homeworld.

The gentle whisper of the tent flap displacing alerted him to their covert specialist's return. Anna never made a sound when she moved, whether she was in a marble-floored hallway or in a leaf-covered forest. Her diminutive stature fooled many into thinking she was only a little girl, but one look at her dead eyes and the tally scratches on her long las stock dispelled any doubts as to her competence. The woman was a demon on the battlefield, just as comfortable with killing a man at a thousand yards as she could at arm's reach. He had seen her put a round through a Nob's nostril in the middle of a chaotic melee. And he had seen her strangle the life out of a rogue Skitarii Praetorian, the tech kind of course, with a garrote. She kept her charcoal-colored hair cropped at shoulder length, though she often slicked it back into a bun when on combat ops. Her entire jumpsuit had a coating of cameoline on it, rendering her nearly invisible whenever she stood still.

Anna was perhaps the most disturbing member of their team. She rarely spoke, and when she did her voice had the tone of a young child. Hearing that innocent-sounding voice for the first time moments after she blew the head off a pair of Ork Nobs had convinced Shannegh that Anna had serious psychological issues. She also talked to her rifle and garrote as if they were real people. Hell, she talked to them more than she talked to _any_ real people.

"How's it looking out there" Nicolai asked her. Anna shuffled over to her cot and laid her long las down with the utmost care. She dug a pair of rabbits out of her haversack and tossed them onto the table. Everyone stared, noting how the animals had broken necks and no traces of laser scorches. Somehow Anna had caught them and killed them with her bare hands. Shannegh was not the only one who shuddered at the thought.

"The b-b-big one's mine" Gutterball stammered. He scrambled forward and snatched up the fatter of the two. Clutching it to his chest, he retreated back to his corner and started gnawing away at it raw. The Praetorians' disgust showed clearly, and they made their excuses before hurrying out of the tent. Soon the only sound in the tent was that of Gutterball's teeth ripping into the rabbit's flesh. Even Penance showed discomfort at the hideous noise.

"Well then, I'd take that as a good omen." Shannegh tried to force a laugh, but Anna turned and stared at him and the mirth choked in his throat. She held up one finger and pointed outside.

"It will be bloody soon" she said, her singsong voice giving the words an unholy echo. Shannegh wasn't sure if she spoke that way on purpose or if that was really the way she was. Either way, it freaked the hell out of people and generally made for a great conversation killer. That was what he was feeling at the moment, in every sense of the term, and he beat a hasty exit outside. Gutterball tailed after him, chewing absently on one of the rabbit's hind legs as he walked. The mutant had taken to him best out of the team. It made sense, considering they were both hiveborn and lacked the manners of the others. But damned if it wasn't a nuisance to have a freak like Gutterball shadowing his steps. Made it hard to get any game, and even harder when they ran into members of the Ecclesiarchy.

Penance's warning about the priests being about kept Shannegh from straying far. He chose to wander over to the middle tent, where Helsing slept. The Inquisitor wasn't in, of course, but he had carelessly left a bottle of spirits out on his planning table. It would have been a shame to let it air out in a brisk morning like this. He strode in without a care in the world, knowing that no eyes were watching, and took a swig to test its contents. Sweet and fiery, probably a local vintage. He drained most of the bottle before handing the rest to Gutterball, who greedily guzzled the remainder down. Liquid splashed down his throat and onto his ratty jacket, adding a new spattering of stains to the filthy outfit. Not that Gutterball noticed. He had worn the same jacket for nigh on three years now, and the only time it got cleaned was when someone became so sick of the stench that they tore it off the whining mutant and hurled it into a bucket of bleach.

"How's tricks, Gutter?"

"F-f-fine, Reaper." Gutterball pawed at his face and throat, wiping away the last drops of spirits from his fur-like skin. "But I am not l-l-looking for-r-rward to this battle. Too many guns."

"Bah, you've been through worse." Shannegh slapped the man on his back. Gutterball flinched and glanced about. Seeing a few unfamiliar officers wandering in their general direction, he pulled his hood up and tugged the edges forward to shelter his unnatural face. The move did not go unnoticed by Shannegh, and he casually steered the mutant around to the rear of the tents. They had a little more privacy here, in the alley between the tent rows. Just behind Inquisitor Helsing's tent stood the tent of Inquisitor someone-or-other's retinue. The only important thing Shannegh remembered about the man and his crew was that he had a Scintillan in his crew that had once been a body slave. And Throne did that woman give a good peepshow when she performed her morning ablutions. It looked like she had already gone off for the day though.

"Orks are easy" Gutterball complained. "They h-h-hardly notice me. Eldar, not so m-m-much. They're sh-sh-sharp."

"So are we." He nudged the mutant and waved his hand to encompass their surroundings. "Besides, they'll have a lot more targets to shoot at than lowly little you. By the time they realize you're a threat…" He drew a finger across his throat. "Game over, Gutter."

His words seemed to boost the mutant's confidence. A sly not-quite-grin stole across Gutterball's face and he patted the satchel at his hip. He was a masterful alchemist, and came up with the most bizarre but effective concoctions. In combat his specialty was disruption. Throw a blinding smoke grenade here, an acidic fireball there, or even a hallucinogenic bomb that would drive a man insane for several minutes. He coated his nearly infinite collection of daggers with those poisons too. Though not a fighter, Gutterball was one hell of an assassin. If only he had a bit more courage. And less mutation.

They stayed between the tents, chatting about this and that, until they heard movement in Helsing's tent. Taking that as their cue, they came back around and joined the others. Shannegh eased his way through the Thracian Guardsmen, taking care to not touch their precious lasguns that they regarded so jealously. The inner circle had formed up on either side of the planning table. Inquisitor Helsing stood behind it, hands resting on the table.

When Shannegh had first met Helsing, his initial impression had been that the man could have seduced a Sister Prioress and then singlehandedly obliterate the Warp-spawned abomination that would attend such an event. He was a devilishly handsome man, Shannegh felt entirely secure in saying that, with artificially pale yellow eyes and carefully mussed hair that highlighted the youthfulness of his face. He had to be at least two hundred years old, but rejuvenant treatments kept his appearance in his prime. The only sign of wear and tear on his body was a single scar stretching from his jaw to his throat, but that merely added to his strong form. His body had been honed over the centuries into a perfect level of fitness that would have left a Catachan drooling in envy. Steel-hard muscles bulged against his black bodyglove. For an operation like this he donned an ancient set of power armor, the kind that an ordinary man could bear, and fought with storm bolter and power fist. He would be a beacon of the Emperor's fury on the battlefield. Just as it should be.

"Now that everyone is here" he drawled, his rich hive accent making the words roll across the tent space. His right hand tapped the table for a moment, right where the bottle had been. No one else caught the look that passed between the men. Shannegh shrugged dismissively, not apologetic in the slightest.

Guardsmen like Lieutenant Eulogy could not fathom the regard that Helsing had for Shannegh. It confounded them to see such a high and mighty Imperial servant so willing to carouse with a lowborn scumbag like Shannegh. What they discounted, of course, was that Helsing had been an underhiver too. Those days were long, long gone, but Helsing's earliest years were spent scrounging in the shadowy streets of a hive, fighting in gang conflicts and thugging his way to a living. He understood Shannegh in a way that perhaps only Gutterball could. And he fully knew the capabilities and usefulness of a man with his skills. Shannegh was also pretty sure that Helsing secretly enjoyed watching him cause all the bickering and infighting with the team. They always needed a way to vent or blow off steam, and Shannegh often came through with just the right solution. It wasn't always the best solution, but he never failed to have an idea.

"Today marks the beginning of the end of this campaign, ladies and gentlemen." The Inquisitor indicated a point on the mountain closest to them. They knew it well. The Wailing Road, the only direct path to the Eldar conclave and the most heavily defended position in the Eldar defenses. To date it was the only point where the Imperials had made no advances. "General Galveteau has issued a general attack along the entire front. We will be throwing everything we have at the xenos, and more. Two days ago reinforcements arrived from Tenea's polar frontier. The 18th Ioran Companions are a full strength infantry regiment with dedicated mountain warfare experience. Most recently they battled the Orks on Armaggedon. So they are real combat troops, not like the useless PDF forces we have been working with. Their regiment will lead the assault on the Wailing Road, supported by the 85th and 414th Siege Companies. The _Pride of Minerva_ is also lending a full ground assault wing to the attack."

Shannegh paid close attention, devouring the plan and considering the implications. A powerful assault with fresh troops against a position that had been drained for months by constant shelling and infantry assaults. The defenders' morale had to be close to rock bottom by now. Even with their success at repulsing so many Imperial assaults, they had no way to resupply or reinforce. The time-honored tactic of the Imperial Guard would have yet another victory. _Throw enough bodies and shells at the enemy and eventually they will be crushed_.

"The plan is simple" Helsing continued. He clasped his hands behind his back and began looking each team member in the eye. That habit earned him respect with the rank-and-file soldiers because it made them feel important. The whole thing was theatrical, but Shannegh understood the good it did.

"We will blow the position to hell, then rush it with so many bodies they can't hope to drive us back. The 18th Ioran will be supported by 142nd Company Maccabean Janissaries and the 97th Thracian Guard. In addition we will be one of four Inquisitorial strike forces following up the assault. Our task is to wait for a breakthrough, then expose and terminate their interior command. With their command out of operation the entire front should collapse."

Lieutenant Eulogy shifted from a parade-rest pose to at-attention. Seeing the subtle shift out of the corner of his eye, Inquisitor Helsing paused and looked at her. "Lieutenant."

"My lord, will ours be the only major assault?"

"This will be one of three objectives" he answered. "The Elysians have demanded another try at the top of the mountain, so they will be combat dropping onto the artillery batteries we have identified. Sucher's Gap is the other goal. A massive ground assault backed by Cadian armor will attempt to drive into the Gap and split their defensive line. Any one of these objectives will turn the tide of the war. If we capture two of them, the whole thing will be over inside of the month. If three…"

"Then we can all go take a vacation" Shannegh ventured. No one laughed.

"If all three objectives are taken" Helsing repeated, laying special emphasis on the individual words, "then any remaining resistance will be isolated and mopped up by the Teneans. Our interests lie here." He tapped the spot on the map where they had marked the Eldar conclave. "I know you all have been paying attention to the rumblings in camp; General Galveteau is of a mind to offer no quarter to the defenders. While his zeal for punishing the traitor men is admirable, I fear he is missing the greater opportunity. We need as many of these xenos alive as possible for study. Any working technologies are a priority too. The more we know about these xenos, the better we can counter them in the future. This is why we members of the Inquisition have petitioned so strongly to have a role in the assaults. We cannot allow the Guard to squander this treasure trove of knowledge."

The Praetorians shifted uneasily at his words. They were rabidly anti-xenos and considered any contact with xenos to be a defilement of their souls. It had been no secret that Helsing, along with other more liberal Inquisitors, had this planned from the start. Why else would they be here? But hearing the order naturally brought those uncomfortable thoughts to the forefront. If Praetorians had anything though, they had discipline. Not a one of them grumbled or cursed under their breaths.

"Once a breach is achieved, we will drive a wedge straight through to the conclave itself. Guard forces will shore up the breach behind us to prevent a repeat of the Sarmatan disaster. Consider us the spearpoint, and the Guard the shaft."

Gutterball snickered loudly. More than one person turned to glare at him, but he did not seem the least bit chagrined. Once he got over his crippling fears, he couldn't be shut up. He was a bully at heart, and one of the nastiest creatures Shannegh had ever met, aside from Anna. When Helsing needed someone broken, he sicced Gutterball on them. It would take a little while for him to warm up, but once he got going he could make a Death Cultist beg for mercy. Gutterball didn't have a lick of conscience or pity anywhere in that mutated form of his.

"I see you two are in high form today" Helsing said, singling out Shannegh and Gutterball. He gave the mutant a withering look that silenced the man as surely as if he had stuffed a gag in his mouth. The Inquisitor's powers over the crazy mob that formed his retinue were truly wondrous. "Moving on then. While we are advancing along the Wailing Road, the tacticians recommend that we avoid using the road itself. We have never detected their use of it and so assume it is mined. So we will attack on foot. This will not be over in a day either, so I want everyone loaded with enough gear for a three-day operation. Lieutenant Eulogy, Sergeant Nicolai, I trust you can handle the requisition for your troops."

"We will" the lieutenant answered for the both of them. Her eyes sparkled at the chance to prove herself to the Inquisitor. A colorful rumor had circulated for some time that she had a hard-on for the dashing agent, but of course a noble-born woman like herself would never stoop to something so degrading as an affair. Shannegh personally doubted those rumors. She had been bred to treat all superior officers with the utmost respect, and Helsing was about as superior to her as one could get. More than likely she just liked to please him for the sake of pleasing him. After all, it wasn't like she had a hope of returning to a Praetorian unit and advancing that way anymore.

"Good. As for the rest of you, I want you to procure your own provisions and supplies, but for Throne's sake do it through the proper channels. That means you, Shannegh. The last thing I need hounding this operation is some pompous quartermaster whining at my door."

He took the order quietly, though it gave him a little kick to see the irritation seeping through Helsing's voice. As well as they got along, Shannegh was a rogue and that was what he did best. Had the situation been reversed he was sure he would have responded the same way Helsing did. Thank the Throne for that.

"The ground assault will begin tomorrow morning at dawn. General Galveteau has issued a thirty-hour bombardment to soften up the defenses. With luck, there won't be anyone left to shoot at on the lines when they finally go in." The Inquisitor stepped back from the table and crossed his arms. He shot Shannegh a subtle look before continuing. "This is going to be a loud and long day, ladies and gentlemen. I suggest you make the most of it. If you have questions stay behind. Otherwise, dismissed."

The Guardsmen dispersed immediately, moving to their tent to take accountability and receive orders. Dunk'er approached the Inquisitor to ask what "wreck-a-sit-on" meant, earning muffled chuckles from those in hearing range. It took Helsing a few minutes of patient explaining to make Dunk'er understand. When the Ogryn was finally satisfied, he lumbered off with a big grin on his face muttering about wrecking a missile launcher. Shannegh waited patiently for the others to ask their questions and leave. When they were alone in the tent he approached the table and stared at Helsing, waiting for his orders.

"No matter what happens out there" Helsing began, "I want Eldar prisoners. Two of the other Inquisitors are of a like mind, but the fourth is a Puritanical simpleton. If he gets to them first, he will kill them all. I want you to beat him there."

"How?" Shannegh studied the map. He had spent whole weeks poring over the information available, seeking weaknesses in their defenses. It did not surprise him that Helsing wanted this. Their minds ran on similar tracks.

"As I said, this won't over in a day. Despite the shelling and our manpower, they are so thoroughly dug in that it will take some time to root out the defenders. I want you to sneak through their lines at nightfall and mark the places where you find the xenos and their technology."

"Are you expecting me to make prisoners?" Shannegh frowned as he considered the option. It would certainly be hard, if not impossible, for him to do it by himself.

"No. I want you to remain out of sight. A little chaos would be fine, but the critical objective is to spot targets of value. Inquisitors Drux, Farragut, and myself will set about securing those sites before the Guard sweep through and wipe out the remaining defenders."

"By myself?"

"I assume you were thinking of bringing Anna along. While she would undoubtedly be effective at the hidden part of this task, I have my doubts as to whether or not she could be trusted with keeping xenos alive. She is rather… vicious , after all."

"So by myself." He crunched the numbers in his head. Infiltrate a defensive line that has held back an Imperial army for months, stay out of sight of the mindreading xenos inhabitants, and surreptitiously mark targets for non-destruction while keeping an eye out for potential opportunities. Not exactly a cakewalk. "What should I expect?"

"Hopefully, panic." They shared bitter smiles. "More than likely, the xenos will have created a series of defensive positions that you will have to bypass. Your lack of a uniform should make it easier for you. You will use this to mark locations." He handed Shannegh a pair of cans with spray nubs. "A simple 'I' will suffice."

"Because no one will notice an Inquisitorial mark" He mused. "How about we use an 'SH' instead."

"SH?"

"SH for Shoot Here."

The Inquisitor laughed and gave Shannegh a wink. "You will do marvelously, friend. A word of warning: the other Inquisitors may have similar plans. Keep a sharp eye out for their own people inside the xenos lines."

"I might just have to go visit around" he muttered. "Get to know some of their faces."

"See that you do. It would be rather awkward if I had to explain why my henchman gutted another henchman."

"Throne forbid the Inquisition does an awkward" he said with mock horror. "Next thing you know we'll be inconveniencing people."

Again, the Inquisitor chuckled. "How was my bottle?"

"Had better" he admitted. As if Helsing could do anything about it. "Local, right?"

"It was a gift from the governor for removing that xenos-tech from the palace."

"Well, at least it didn't go to waste." The mercenary tapped his chest. "Gave some to Gutterball too. Figured he needed some liquid courage to prep for this."

Something akin to a groan slipped out of the Inquisitor's mouth. "Feck's sake, you are absolutely shameless. I'd have better luck training Dunk'er how to spell than teaching you some proper manners."

"What the hell'd I want proper manners for?"

That gave the man some pause, and he made a show of thinking through his reply. When he found no reasonable excuse he sighed. "Good point. You're much more useful as a scandalous scallywag."

"Ladies love a bad boy" he said with a beaming smile.

"Unlike officers" he noted shrewdly. "Your badgering of Madam Eulogy continues unabated, I take it."

"One of the best ways to pass the time."

"Maybe so, but see to it that you don't distract her from her duties. I need Madam Eulogy fully concentrated for this mission. Her Praetorian Rifles will be key in this upcoming battle."

"I distract her" he asked with false astonishment. "Hot damn, I guess she's coming around then."

"Give it another two hundred years and she might even shake your hand" the Inquisitor joked. He checked his chrono and frowned. "Duty calls, Reaper. Come by around dusk, I might have some special gear for you to aid in your task."

"I like the sound of that." Shannegh bobbed his head respectfully and slunk out of the tent. First order of business: find some grub. He was pretty sure the Staff kitchen would be nearly empty by now. If he was fast he could snatch the leftovers before they tossed it to the cattle.


	3. The Assault

**Day of the Assault**

He could smell the burnt flesh. Clouds of black smoke wafted across the muddy ground, carried by southwestern winds that pushed the gag-inducing strength into the Imperial lines. The weather had taken a decided turn for the worse just before the assault began. As a result the promised air support had never materialized, and continued shelling of the defenses. Pouring rain made the ground slippery and treacherous. The darkness of the clouds made spotting the enemy impossible. The only way to find the enemy was to push forward until they started shooting. Casualties were high.

Despite the death and misery around him, Shannegh felt his spirits soar. After months of waiting, it was finally time for a real scrap. He plodded forward through the mud, lascarbine tracking back and forth in case one of the bodies wasn't truly dead. In the chaos of battle it was easy to mistake an unconscious body for a dead one. That was why the Inquisitor units had been asked to patrol forward in the wake of the infantry. Every so often the crack of a lasgun or some other such weapon proved the value of this strategy.

He stopped at the edge of the third trench line. Huddled together in the shattered remains of an earthen pillbox sat a dozen wounded Guardsmen and two rear echelon medics. The pitiful groaning of the injured made his stomach churn. The walking wounded would have continued on with their units. He had already passed a few stretcher teams that had begun the arduous task of bringing back the dead for processing. One of the medics looked up at him through smoke-reddened eyes. He gazed up at Shannegh for a moment before deciding that he was not there for medical aid.

Anna caught his attention off to his left. She waved for him to keep up. Inquisitor Helsing was impatient to reach the front. Per the General's orders they had waited until noon before setting out. The delay, coupled with the rain, made them all impatient. Gutterball's whining had caused a near-fight with Nicolai. Dunk'er grew bored and wandered off three times over the course of the morning. Shannegh had sat in the tent and played with his new toy. A _kopis_, the locals called it. Not quite a sword but larger than the average dagger. This one contained extensive adamantine wiring connected to an activation stud on the hilt. When powered the blade discharged an electrical impulse powerful enough to paralyze a man for thirty seconds or so. Perfect for quiet assassinations. Shannegh was sure he would find good use for it in the coming days.

A thoughtful combat engineer had laid a few stapled strips of wood across the trench. Shannegh hurried across, not keen on testing the bridge's stability, and rejoined the staggered line. The ratio of corpses had begun to turn faintly in the Imperial's favor by this point. Many of the dead wore non-standard armor, and many had fallen face first into the mud. Shot in the back as they ran away. There were some of those in every army.

One of the bodies was struggling. Shannegh lifted his lascarbine up and down to signal he had found something. Anna trained her rifle on the area as he approached the body. It wasn't Imperial. The man had been shot twice in the lower back. The shock must have knocked him out long enough for the second wave to pass him by. Or they just hadn't spotted him in this downpour. Shannegh checked to ensure his hands were visible before approaching the man.

"Don't move" he ordered. The wounded man turned his head slowly, trying to look up. Blood coated his face. His beard had grown wild in the past months, and his skin stretched taut over his bones. Intelligence had speculated that they were short on food. The state of this man appeared to corroborate that news. That or they had been unable to resupply the trench companies because of the shelling. "How many of you are left?"

"Not enough, sadly." The man did not tremble in the face of the menacing lascarbine. His eyes glowed with too-bright energy. "And less now."

"Any chance you could clarify that?"

The man's hand inched towards a fallen lasgun. Shannegh shot him in the base of the neck. Grumbling under his breath at fools and their allegiances, he stomped onwards. The corpses began to thin in that precious space between defensive lines. Here and there he came upon the wreckage of carts or support weapons that had been annihilated while trying to make it across the field. The mountains loomed ahead. He could only see the vague outline of the nearest ones. Soon he would hear the rolling crackle of lasfire.

_Hunter Seeking Status, Check._

Everyone responded affirmatively except for Lieutenant Eulogy. Her Praetorian Rifles had discovered a man-sized tunnel just behind the third trench line. They had marked the location and were awaiting a platoon of Tenean PDF that would secure the entrance. Helsing's frustration bled across the vox, but he confirmed her report and issued orders for the entire team to halt. The picket line would not be very effective with a squad-sized hole in it.

Sighing quietly, Shannegh cast about for a relatively dry patch to sit down. There was none to be found. He stood in a sea of mud. Cursing the weather did not seem to earn him any favors either, so he kicked a dead mercenary onto his back and plopped down on the man's body. He spent a minute scraping mud off his boots. The heavy shroud of rain gave the setting an eerie feel. Every crack and crevice in the ground was full of mud, blood and water. Corpses thrown about by the artillery shelling cast ominous shadows in the lightning flashes.

After the massive bombardment conducted over the past two days, taking the trenches had been a pushover. That hardly meant anything, considering the mountains were universally acknowledged to be the tougher obstacle. Even so, the Guard had paid horrifically for the base of the mountain. They must have lost at least a hundred men before even reaching the first trench. The defenders might have been outnumbered and outgunned, but they had put up a hell of a fight. And that fight had continued all the way through the second and third trench lines. It was only after losing all of their prepared positions that the defenders broke and ran.

It still amazed him to see how men could march to certain death like this. Having never served in the Guard, he could only imagine the kind of balls it took to storm over the edge of the trench into a sheet of incoming fire. Sure, he had seen his fair share of hairy action, but this was on a whole other level. Only a madman enjoyed this sort of slaughter.

About ten minutes passed before he detected an incoming body. The steady squelching tramp of combat boots slogging through the mud preceded a shadowy shape coming from the mountain. Shannegh calmly slid off his corpse-seat and leaned back against it, laying his lascarbine across his body ready to fire. He doubted it would be an enemy, but it never hurt to be safe. Flicking the fire selector to full, he squinted through the rain.

A bloodsoaked Tenean Guardsmen stumbled out of the haze. He had a rough web of bandages pressed to the stump jutting from his right shoulder. Seemingly oblivious, he walked right past Shannegh and kept on towards the Imperial lines. The man was muttering to himself. Said something about an ambush.

_Reaper Seeking Hunter. Ambulatory Local. Warn Prepared Hostiles_.

The vox remained silent for a long minute.

_Hunter Seeking Reaper. Verity?_

_ Uncertain. Ambulatory Shock._

Again, a pause. Helsing's next command sent everyone scrambling.

_Hounds. Converge By Half._

Anna was by his side in the time it took him to stand up. She stood beside him, sniper rifle tracking in the direction of the passing soldier.

"I can fetch him" she said. "Nick the knee and drag him back."

"Don't fecking shoot him! He's on our side."

"Click, bang, scream…"

"Point that the feck elsewhere!" Shannegh growled and knocked her sniper rifle into the air. Her eyes flashed with murder at the intrusion of her personal space. In the span of a heartbeat she had drawn back out of his reach and shoved the barrel into his chest.

"Third rib" she hissed. "Left atrium. Tap, hiss, gurgle."

Her tendency to list off the exact effects of her shots unsettled most of Helsing's crew, but not Shannegh. His nerve was never stronger than when someone put a barrel in his face. "Shove off. We've got a job to do."

Blatantly ignoring the threat, Shannegh stalked off in Helsing's direction. The Inquisitor's order had been to draw down into a paired picket line at half the normal width. Being the outliers on the left flank, they had a good half kilometer to slog through before they repositioned. Anna trudged along after him, glaring daggers into his spine. He caught snatches of her whispering to her rifle, apologizing for the unsanctioned touching and promising to take vengeance. The woman was psychotic enough she actually might consider shooting him in the back in combat. Taking the infiltration alone suddenly seemed like a lot better plan.

They proceeded until he caught sight of Dunk'er massive frame. The Ogryn had indeed requisitioned a missile launcher, and he carried it proudly on his shoulder at all times. The question of whether or not he knew how to operate it hadn't yet come across the big guy's brain, but Shannegh had faith he would find a way to use it. Worst case scenario he could hurl the missiles like grenades. Wait, had he even taken ammo?

"Dunk'er, Dunk'er, Dunk'er" Shannegh called out. The last thing they needed was for Dunk'er to panic on seeing them and assume they were the enemy. The Ogryn turned their way and waved cheerily.

"Ey Rippah! Purdy day, eh?"

"Sure thing" he called back. "We moving out?"

The Ogryn did not need to answer, because Helsing's armored form appeared out of the haze at a jog. At the sight of the Inquisitor, Shannegh gave the nearby area quick glance before relaxing.

"Boss" he said, nodded respectfully to the Inquisitor. Helsing's scowl was well-hidden by the wide-brimmed hat he wore to keep the rain off. He did not appear to be in the mood for talking.

"What did the man say?"

"He'd lost an arm and looked near catatonic, but he was talking to himself about an ambush. Mentioned rockets, lasers, people dying all over the place."

The inquisitor adopted that introspective look he wore when considering bad choices. After a few moments he shrugged. "The Teneans are ahead of us. We will push forward until we spot the fighting, then we will decide how to proceed. But I will be damned before I let the other Inquisitors beat us to the conclave, do you understand me?"

He did not know if Helsing was referring to his task or the whole team's, but Shannegh nodded nonetheless. His boss was in a foul mood and not at all up for wisecracks. Offering an encouraging nod, he pointed on ahead.

"Anna and I can scout ahead, see what we find. We won't run into any ambushes."

"Agreed. You two will take the lead. I will bring up the rest behind you. Give me three minutes to collect the others."

With that the Inquisitor turned on his heel and stalked off through the muddy battlefield. Shannegh stared after him, crunching numbers in his head. He had no idea if that man had been a sole survivor or merely too wounded to remain up front. Hopefully it was the latter option. He had not woken up this morning hoping to be thrown into a full-on battle. Helsing's voice came over the vox, issuing orders for the others to regroup and prepare to move en masse. The Praetorians reluctantly abandoned their position, leaving the tunnel marked but unguarded. When everyone was assembled Helsing gave Shannegh the order to move.

"Let's go hunting" he told Anna. She bared a feral grin and slunk forward. Within moments her body had vanished. Shannegh trudged after her, not as graceful but about as stealthy. In half an hour they left the muddy field behind for the rising slope of the mountain. Here the number of corpses began to grow again. First a couple Guardsmen, then half a dozen Teneans stretched out away from a blast crater, then the bodies began to mingle. Some lay in firing positions, their lives cut short by a lucky shot. Others were contorted in grappling poses, knifed or beaten to death. At one point he came upon a pile of three charred bodies. The middle had been lost a leg, and the two beside him might have been dragging him to safety when a flamer consumed them. The carnage only grew worse and more intimate the higher they went.

By the time Anna signaled contact front Shannegh had decided that this sort of warfare did not suit his tastes. An enemy could be behind every rock. Advancing soldiers had too many angles to watch and not enough guns to cover them all. A squad of ten skilled men could wipe out a company of a hundred in a setting like this. The Tenean dead were beyond counting.

"Mortars" Anna announced, pointing ahead. Shannegh acknowledged and scuttled forward, careful to avoid presenting a profile. The last thing they needed was some trigger-happy Guardsman taking a shot at him on the approach. He crept to within twenty meters of their position and ensured he had good cover before shouting out the operation's pass word.

"Aquila!"

The nearest three men scrambled for their lasguns and trained them in his direction. One rose from his mortar and took a hesitant step in Shannegh's direction.

"Faith!"

"Coming out." Shannegh lifted his lascarbine straight in the air to identify his location. Shrugging the hood of his cloak back, he leapt down from his perch and strode into the mortar position. The men had dug in as best they could and stood by waiting for a fire mission. Set in a V-shape, the three mortar tubes had their bases reinforced with the lids of ammo cans to prevent their sinking into the mud when fired. Two men attended each weapon, one gunner and one assistant. Another two crouched at opposite flanks for security, and two more were huddled around a vox. That would be the section commander and his communications officer.

The section leader broke off from speaking to his vox operator and strode over to greet him.

"You're not Guard" the man observed. He eyed Shannegh's cloak and grimaced. "You're one of them headhunters, aren't you?"

"My Inquisitor is close behind me" Shannegh told them. The mortar men gazed about uneasily. No one liked Inquisitors, especially Guardsmen. "What's your status?"

"We've been punching our way up this slope for the past three hours. Casualties are high, ammunition for our mortars is low as a sailor's pants on shore leave. But we're pounding the piss out of those xenos-lovers."

"That is good news. How far forward are the infantry?"

"Not more than a couple hundred meters. This rock does strange things to the noise, but once you cross that little rise you'll hear them plain as day."

Shannegh nodded and called for Anna to come in. She slunk in from the shadows, appearing beside one of their perimeter sentries before he noticed her. The Guardsman nearly leapt out of his skin when her pale hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him aside. Most of the mortar crews stared. They hadn't seen a woman in a while, that much was certain. And certainly hadn't seen anything like her either. Moving lithely through the muck, she came to Shannegh's side and tapped her ear. He took her advice and reported in.

_Reaper Seeking Hunter. Friends Found. Awaiting._

He did not wait for a reply. Helsing would push the others forward in a rush to catch up.

"Lots of friends ahead" Anna sighed, caressing the butt of her sniper rifle with a trembling hand. If she did not shoot something soon she might start taking shots at the Guardsmen just for the hell of it. "Can I go meet them?"

"No further than that rise" Shannegh said, pointing to the spot the officer had indicated. "And if they return the favor I want you right back here, got it?"

"Rain, rain, go away" she whispered, and started for the rise.

The officer stared after her, one eyebrow arched. "How old is she? She looks like a kid."

"Older than she looks and old enough to kill."

That settled his questions. The officer excused himself and went off to check with his vox operator. The mortar crews returned to their tubes, waiting for the coordinates to send their next rain of death. Empty containers littered the area, and as Shannegh watched one of the sentries retreated from his position and began collecting the boxes. He stacked them all in a pile beside a small four-wheeler with a trailer-bed attachment. They must have driven the ammunition up on the trailer.

Within minutes of his arrival the mortar crew received a fire mission. He calmly stepped out of the way and watched as the two-man crews rushed to adjust their tubes. It took effort to maneuver the heavy metal pieces through the mud, but they didn't complain or lollygag. When the mortars were in position and adjusted they began firing salvoes. Offsetting their shots by two seconds, they launched a one minute long stream of high explosive shells. He could see the haze ahead grow brighter over the rise, but strangely he heard nothing. Just the dull 'whoosh' of the warheads leaving the tubes and the splatter of rain on rock and mud.

The officer called cease-fire at the minute mark. The gunners scrambled to restock their depleted warhead supplies while the loaders double-checked the placement of the tubes and scooped water from the puddles to cool down the barrels. That done, they called off their reserves and collected spent arming pins from the fired warheads. Their firing must have been effective, because they did not have a second call. It was all efficient and mechanical. They were damn good at what they did.

Anna returned from her forward position at about the same time Helsing brought the rest of the team in. The Praetorians pushed right past the mortars, ignoring the odd looks they received, and set up a skirmish line twenty five meters ahead. Behind them the Thracians took position in a clump, not in battle formation but ready to drop shoulder to shoulder in an instant. Their bronze shields held the coat-of-arms of their families; Shannegh knew they prized their shields over their lives. The last time he had talked to Nicolai about it the man had rattled off some wizened quote about coming home with his shield or on it. Frivolous honor crap, in his opinion. If someone dumped a heavy shield on him and he had to get out of trouble, he'd drop it in an instant.

The Inquisitor went straight to the section officer, demanding an update on the situation before the man could even register that the being before him in wonderfully engraved archaic power armor was the one pulling the strings. He saluted nervously, and rattled off a report as the two began to speak in low tones. Shannegh did not bother trying to listen in. He knew his orders. The where did not matter.

He chose to wait beside Gutterball and Dunk'er, knowing full-well the effect of seeing three wildly dissimilar men so close. More than a couple sets of Guard eyes stared at them in wonder. One time a snobbish noble had seen them together and asked if Shannegh was their 'beast handler.' Shannegh's response had been to look him dead in the eye and reply that they were lovers. Startled the ignorant fop so badly he had fainted on the spot. Ah, good times.

"What're you packing there, Dunk'er?"

It was a small necklace made of used IV tubes with a few picts wrapped in plasitk hooked through. Despite the gratuitous length of tubing taken to form the string, it barely fit around the Ogryn's throat. Shannegh stepped closer and lifted one of the picts to examine. He didn't recognize the woman, but she wore a medicae uniform. Not bothering to ask for permission, he checked the others. Feck, it was all a bunch of nurse picts. Sadly, they were all fully clothed. But damn were they easy to look at.

"Where'd you get these beauties, Dunk'er?"

"S'a gift" he mumbled, blushing a brownish crimson color. "From da purdy ladies fer bein' help."

"Feck all, if I'd known they'd hand out picts for a few hours of work I would've been all over that hospital." Shannegh picked the prettiest one and plucked it from the necklace. He tucked it into his vest pocket and patted the Ogryn on the arm. "Should'a gotten them to show some skin, but I'll take it."

"Why dey do that" Dunk'er asked, his wrinkled face scrunching up in confusion. Gutterball snickered lewdly and made a motion with his hands.

"Dunk'er, someday I'm going to have to sit down with you and explain what happens when a man likes a woman."

"I like plenny o' woman."

"And they like you too, I bet." He hesitated, having a sudden and very hopeful revelation. Digging the pict back out of his vest, he checked the back. "Throne have mercy! Gutterball, look at this."

The mutant-man scurried over and peered at the back of the pict. Shannegh held it close to his chest, leaning over it to avoid getting the plastic wet. This was not the kind of thing he wanted to risk ruining. The clear red print of a woman's lips and a name. Suddenly they weren't laughing anymore. Muttering a curse, Shannegh checked the other ones. All the same.

"I am so jealous right now" Shannegh grumbled. "Feck, if you had half a brain you'd have had the sweetest rumble this side of a Sister's initiate class."

"Huh?"

"Forget it, Dunk'er. Too late now." Shannegh put the pict back and lifted his lascarbine. He could see Helsing making his way over. "Well, now I have something to look forward to when I get back. She's gonna need a lot of stress relieving when this thing's done."

"I assume this is conversation is significant to the task at hand" Helsing growled. His eyes fairly blazed as he looked them over. Not waiting for a reply, he addressed them while jabbing aggressively with his powerfist in the enemy's direction. "The Teneans have stalled out against this ravine-like terrain. Heavy fire from both slopes has them pinned."

"Well, that's kind of what they've been doing for the past half year. Why are you surprised?"

As soon as he said the words he regretted them. He was far too used to saying whatever came to mind that he overlooked the Inquisitor's clear fury at the delay. Subjected to Helsing's withering stare, he shut his mouth and looked at the ground.

"The Maccabean's have already established a breach on their lines five kilometers northeast. Inquisitor Jadus is behind them. We cannot let him reach the Eldar first."

"Plan?"

Their Inquisitor made a fierce noise in his throat and gestured to the Thracians. "For now I will move Anna and the Praetorians forward to provide support for the Teneans. The Thracians will muster up for exploitation once we achieve a breach."

"And us?"

"I want you two" he indicated Shannegh and Gutterball, "to see if you can approach along our right flank. The rain will do poorly for our shooters, but it should play into your favor."

"A two-man assault on prepared and alerted enemy positions?"

It was a lot to ask for, but Helsing never ordered his team to try something they could not achieve. To do so would be wasteful, and the Inquisitor hated waste. Especially considering he had a lot riding on Shannegh's survival.

"If you happen to commandeer some Teneans while you are at it, by all means. But you will need to be stealthy to make this happen."

"Stealth is my middle name" Shannegh said with a toothy grin. He grabbed Gutterball by the shoulder and yanked the nervous man closer. "And his is cowardice, so that's pretty much the same thing right now."

"Off with you then." He turned to Dunk'er and opened his mouth, but fell silent when he saw the gifted necklace. Loosing a defeated sigh, he motioned for the Ogryn to follow him. The Inquisitor muttered something about hopeless idiots as he strode off towards the Thracians.

"Come on then" Shannegh said. He slapped Gutterball on the back. "Let's go gank some mercs."

"This is s-s-suicide" the man whined, but he followed obediently. His hands disappeared inside his heavy cloak, no doubt sorting through his weaponry and searching for an appropriate choice. There were all sorts of vile things inside those robes. Despite having hoped to remain away from the fighting, Gutterball always had a backup plan. And a shit ton of weapons to get him out of the worst situations.

They moved at a brisk walk until reaching the rise. Anna had gone back to her spot by then, and Shannegh dropped down beside her to get a good look. Well, as good as he could manage. The rain seemed to be letting up just a little, giving him enough visibility to spot the rearmost members of the Tenean unit. Combat medics and wounded. The muted cacophonic chatter of hundreds of guns drifted down the slope, punctuated here and there by pulses of light when explosives went off or heavy lasguns fired. He heard a lot of autoguns. The Teneans used lasguns. By the sound of it, they were getting their asses kicked.

"We need a way up" Shannegh told the sniper. She did not look up from her scope, too intent on hunting for the source of the enemy fire. Her rifle had a rare Preysense scope. It allowed her to see through the haze to some degree, and she was taking advantage of that ability.

"Tap. Left shoulder. Drop shell. Big boom."

She squeezed the trigger and a scarlet hotshot bolt darted into the rain. The scream did not make it through the sounds of battle, but the explosion did. Moments later more explosions occurred, rippling through the chaos like a drum solo. Anna giggled and began searching for another target.

"Anna, path!"

"Ten o'clock" she murmured, sounding entirely focused on the battle. That was all she would give them, so Shannegh pushed off the rock and started easing his way down. The ground here was shallow, mostly loose topsoil and rocks shards. He made it halfway down into the ravine before it before he lost his footing and slid the rest of the way down. Dozens of corpses lay at the bottom of the slope, mostly Tenean. Their bodies were sprawled about in ragdoll positions. The defenders had ambushed them as they descended the slopes. Smart.

Gutterball clambered down after him, using two little hand picks to keep his grip. When he got to the bottom he looked over the dead and shook his head.

"Glad we w-w-weren't in the front."

"Well, we are now so keep your head down." He gestured to head left. They continued forward, watching their feet to avoid making loud noises. The din of battle grew clearer as they drew closer, until finally they reached the combat medics tending to the wounded. Occasional overshots cracked against the rocks around them, making the wounded flinch. They might as well have been extra-large drops of water for all the attention the medics paid. Their job was to keep people alive, and that was what they were going to do.

"What's the news" Shannegh demanded, not that he cared. They had all the info they needed.

"We're stuck as stuck" a wounded soldier called back. He had sergeant ranks on his shoulder, and looked impatient to be in the rear. Then again, he did have a giant bloody gash in his thigh. Someone must have dragged him back to the medics. "Bastards had this position prepared ahead of time. Whenever we push up they roll rocks and grenades down on us."

"Rocks?"

"Really fracking big ones. Like the kind that could knock a Chimera on its ass."

"Oh." Shannegh nudged Gutterball. "See, nothing to worry about."

"Let's j-j-just get going" the man said. He pointed off to the left. "What's t-t-that way?"

"Sheerest part of the ravine. Not climbable."

"We'll see about that" Shannegh muttered. He rummaged through his pack and tossed a spare E-kit at the medics' feet. He always carried a few, just in case. "Hope this helps."

The nearest medic, a sharp-faced elderly soldier with bony hands, grabbed the kit and tapped it against his helmet in thanks. His good deed done, Shannegh hurried off with Gutterball towards the steep slope. They circled a little to the south as they went, not wanting to draw attention. The slope was indeed steep, and relatively bare of cover too. Shannegh studied it from the ground, using his camo-cloak to shield himself as he sought out a good path. There looked to be a lone sentry at the top, but the man disappeared after a moment. They could handle one man. The hard part would be getting up.

"How many of those hand picks do you got?"

"J-j-just mine" Gutterball said. He held them out for Shannegh. "Y-y-you first?"

Somehow Shannegh could not bring himself to feel surprised that Gutterball forewent the honors. Taking the picks, he wrapped the leather straps around his wrists and approached the slope. It took a few soft blows to dig in enough to find purchase. He could afford to be loud thanks to the battle, but he did not feel like pushing his luck. Moving slowly, he began pulling himself up the slope one hold at a time. There was very little to hold on here, and he found himself having to pull himself up by his arm strength alone. The going was slow, and painfully interrupted each time the sentry wandered back over. The man's heart did not seem in his duty, because he took little more than a peek over the edge before hurrying back to shoot at the Teneans.

He reached the top after a good twenty or so minutes, and his arms were burning badly. But he did not go over the edge, preferring to remain and wait for the sentry's back. The man took a while getting back to his position. He seemed to walk over every five minutes. After waiting seven minutes and not hearing the man Shannegh grew impatient. His arms were aching and every minute that passed was a minute more of Helsing's fury. Cursing the sentry's laziness, he pulled himself.

And found Gutterball hunched over the man's corpse, blood coating his muzzle. The sentry's throat had been torn out. Stunned, Shannegh approached and dragged the body behind a rock. He appropriated the man's autogun and what spare magazines he could find.

"How the fecking hell did you get up here before me" he hissed, pulling the bloody mutant down to a crouch. Gutterball's eyes had taken that crazy light that came with his wakening bloodlust. Now that the juice was flowing in his veins he'd be a wrecking ball. The mutant lifted his claw-like fingers and wiggled them. They were also coated in blood.

"You were taking too long" he hissed.

"Arsehole."

They broke cover and stalked forward, keeping to the shadows and whatever cover they could find. The first position they came upon was only a dozen meters away. Praising the Throne for the rain cover, Shannegh motioned for Gutterball to remain behind a rock. He strode right up to the position, trusting in his unaffiliated clothing to remove suspicions. The men hardly seemed to notice him. One looked back and made a grunting noise before turning back to shoot at the Teneans. He peered over the rocks, spotting the grey-and-white clad Teneans scurrying like rocks in the ravine below. There were a lot of corpses out in the open. Turning to his left, he saw that the enemy had regular intervals between their fortified positions. Just far enough that he could quietly kill his way down the line.

There were four men in the position with him. Shannegh eased his pistol out with his left hand and placed the autogun against the back of the nearest man. The mercenary started in surprise, but before he could say a word Shannegh pulled the trigger. A trio of impacts shook his body and he flopped forward. The noise could barely be heard, but the sudden movement drew the others' attention. They gazed up at Shannegh in confusion, their weapons still aimed down the ravine.

He pumped the trigger of his pistol, putting two bullets in one man and four in the next before they put two and two together. Rushing forward on the last man, frantically bringing his autogun to bear, Shannegh jabbed him square in the face with his gun barrel. The blow knocked the man on his back, and a quick double tap to his chest finished him off. He dropped to a crouch and dragged the bodies to the ground. Policing their weapons, he ejected the magazines and tossed the empty autoguns in the opposite corner. The next position over did not appear to have noticed their allies' deaths.

Gutterball appeared at his side, sliding over the rocks like an eel. "Next one's mine" he growled. Two long knives appeared in his hands.

"Just keep it quiet."

"As death itself" the mutant promised. He scurried out of the position on his hands and knees. Shannegh searched the bodies while he waited. Nothing special, just the usual things soldiers stuffed in their pockets before battle. A couple ration bars, some canteens, personal effects. One of the men had a wallet with a few coins of Tenean currency. He pocketed the whole thing, preferring the wallet to jangling coins.

Gutterball came back a few minutes later. His knives had a fresh wet coat on them and he was grinning broadly. "Clear."

"Good. Push on then, every other. We'll leapfrog our way down." He hesitated and stared back at the slope they had climbed. "On second thought, do you have any rope?"

"Yes…" Gutterball eyed him warily.

"Long enough for that slope?"

"Of course."

"Go set it up. I want you to head back down, find Helsing, and let him know we have a foothold on this side. If he can get those Thracians up here, or hell even the Praetorians, we can clean this place out in minutes."

"You just want all the kills" Gutterball grumbled. Still, he began to draw out the rope.

"Trust me, the last thing I want to do is hog all the fighting. Hurry up and you'll be back in the fray in no time."

The mutant rushed off, eager to complete his errand and be back. Shannegh waited for him to disappear over the edge before moving forward. If he cleared out the first four or so positions they would have enough space to get a whole company up here before the defenders noticed. Passing the position Gutterball had cleared out, he looked in and found a gruesome scene of carnage. Blood everywhere, bodies hacked to pieces. They had a bipod-mounted .30 caliber stubber, the kind that would be noticed if it suddenly stopped shooting. Pushing the dead off of it, he appropriated the weapon and reset it facing down the enemy lines. It could come in handy once the fighting started in earnest up here. He spent a minute finding an unopened ammunition container and setting it up for a quick reload when the current belt ran dry. Then he moved on to the next spot.

This one appeared to be a spotter's position for their own artillery support. Four gunmen unloaded magazine after magazine downrange, more intent on suppressing the Teneans than hitting them. Behind them stood a tall and skinny man clad in a faded Mordian uniform. It fit him well enough that Shannegh stopped in surprise. He had never met a Mordian before, but the tales said they were hard as sin and prime soldiers. If they had Mordians here, somehow, holy Throne were they in trouble.

The Mordian had a vox communicator strapped to his hip and was speaking rapidly into the handheld mic. He had a laspistol in his other hand, though it appeared to not have been fired recently. Nevertheless his finger rested on the trigger. Shit, that might be their equivalent of a commissar. Throne knew any Mordian who made it past sergeant was a Commissar in all but name. They were fanatics and coldhearted bastards.

Raising his autogun, Shannegh approached the man from behind and drilled him through the back of the head. It was messy and loud, but he was not about to give that kind of man a chance. The officer's head exploded in a pulpy mess, showering the men in front of him with his brain matter. Kicking the body aside, Shannegh emptied his magazine into their backs. One died instantly, body riddled. The next curled up in a ball and moaned as several rounds punched into his torso and right leg. A third managed to roll onto his back and squeeze off a burst into the air before a round blew a chunk out of his shoulder. The fourth dove instinctively over his cover, catching himself with one hand to prevent an unfortunate and fatal slide down into the ravine. His autogun slapped against the rocks and he fired wildly, forcing Shannegh to dodge back and hit the ground. Snarling loudly, he ejected the empty magazine and slammed in a new one. The wounded man was drawing a knife from his belt and lurching forward. Shannegh shot him through the chest and he slumped to the ground. The man on the other side cried out sharply, then his gun slid out of view.

Not daring to rise, Shannegh crawled forward. The three inside the position were all dead now. Shifting past them, he snuck a look over the cover. The Teneans had spotted the fourth man and lit him up like a party decoration. His mangled corpse had slid halfway down the slope before getting caught on a jutting boulder. Three spots down.

"What the hell is going on" a voice shouted. Shannegh rose to a knee and brought his autogun to bear on the confused soldier running his way. A short burst dropped the man cold, but others had taken notice of the shooting. Angry and panicked voices rose in a sudden chatter. The nearby position abandoned shooting at the Teneans and shifted over to face him. More soldiers were running up from further down the line, drawn by the commotion.

Biting back a curse, Shannegh sprayed the rest of his magazine to keep their heads down. When it clicked dry he hurled it at them and drew his lascarbine. Sliding forward against the rocks, he pressed in and waited for the return volley. When it came it came with a vengeance. The patter of rain vanished, replaced by the thunderous hail of bullets striking rock all around him. Hunkering down, he looked about for a solution to this unwelcome situation.

A half-empty box of grenades had been tucked against the rocks, well within reach. Grabbing one, he checked it and discovered they were fragmentation models. Oh Throne, was it his lucky day. He dragged the box over and primed the first one.

"Back at'cha" he muttered. He hurled the first one over his shoulder and waited for the blast. It sounded woefully underpowered when it came, but the shooting slackened. That was good enough for him. There were about a dozen or so grenades still in the box. Leaving his lascarbine to rest against the rocks, he started drawing, priming, and throwing the grenades in quick succession. He laid them out in a fan-like pattern, making sure to spread the joy. Terrified screams filled the air as the rain of explosives wreaked havoc on the defenders. By the time he ran out they had stopped shooting at him.

A prayer formed on his lips as he scooped up his lascarbine. His options were to advance a little and try and hold the position, hoping that Gutterball had done what he asked, or to hunker down. There wasn't much ammunition here, but the cover was good. He leaned over the rocks and looked across the line. Smoking corpses lay strewn about the area ahead, torn to pieces by his grenades. More than a few still stirred, injured but still alive. Damn, those grenades must have been manufactured in some low-grade PDF supplier factory. He rose from his cover and rushed forward, putting a few rounds in each of the wounded men as he moved. There were six in total; the rest had fled.

He had just reached the fourth position, which held a now-ruined heavy bolter, when a full squad of soldiers came rushing in his direction. These ones fired as they ran, not making the same mistake as their predecessors. And they had lasguns too, and what looked like flak armor. The flurry of lasers sent him diving for cover between the former gunner and loader of the heavy bolter. Their faces had been flayed to the bone by shrapnel. Grimacing in disgust, Shannegh patted them down for more grenades. There were none to be found. He could hear their voices, calling out to each other as they spread in a battle line. Feck it all. He was caught.

Two spherical objects clattered against the rocks and rolled into view. Shannegh screamed through clenched teeth and shoved one of the corpses in between him and them. Yanking the other one over as a shield, he pressed his head into the dirt and-

BLAAAM!

The twin explosions shook the ground so hard he slid away. More than a couple fragments sliced through his human shield and cut his skin. All he heard was the ringing of great cathedral bells.

"Son of a bitch, that hurt." He dragged himself to his knees and set his lascarbine against the rocks for stability. A single soldier had gotten up and was moving forward, weapon trained on a spot just to Shannegh's left. They saw each other at the same time, but Shannegh was quicker on the trigger. His first shot sliced past the man's head, temporarily blinding him and causing his own shot to miss. Adjusting smoothly, Shannegh's next shot bowled the man over and sent his lasgun spinning away. Then the others were shooting at him and he had to drop to the ground again. Moments later another set of grenades came tumbling into his position.

"Feck you" he shouted, even as he dove behind the bodies again. This time the concussive blasts hurled him against the heavy bolter. Something metal struck his back and shooting pain lanced up his back. It nearly paralyzed him, pressing the sliver of steel harder against his spine. Rolling onto his belly, he grabbed his lascarbine and trained it on the entrance to the firing pit. He wasn't too keen on trying to shot back anymore. Better to let the bastards come in after him. He could take one, maybe two or three if he got lucky. But another grenade volley would kill him. The bodies he had used were all but pulped by the sheer number of grenade blasts they had endured.

His luck appeared to have run out though, because the soldiers leapt over the side instead of using the main entrance. A lucky flailing foot kicked his lascarbine to the side and Shannegh let it go. Praying that the man had not noticed him, he went limp and half-closed his eyes. Within moments the defenders had swarmed the position and checked the bodies. He had enough blood and scrapes on him that the man who searched him barely prodded him before calling him dead. Four men stood in the pit while the others remained outside. He heard their commander shouting orders to clear the pit and recover the heavy bolter.

Rough hands grabbed Shannegh and rolled him away from the gun. His hand eased under his chest and grabbed his pistol. A thorough check would reveal he was alive, and he was not about to die on his belly. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on listening for his opportunity.

What he heard instead was a perfectly synchronized volley of autogun fire, so well-ordered that it sounded like a single loud shot. Bodies crumpled around him like bowler pins. Moments later he heard a vigorous cheer and a decidedly fierce female voice shouting the command to advance. A smile cracked across his face. Lieutenant Eulogy's Praetorians had made it up.

Rolling onto his back, Shannegh checked the corpses around him and determined they were indeed dead. Each man had a single bullet wound through the head or torso. Taking a moment to admire their work, he gathered his lascarbine and crawled to the entrance. The entire squad of soldiers had been taken down by the Praetorian volley. Excellent work, as always.

Green-clad soldiers came rushing into the now-crowded firing pit, their rifles sweeping the piles of dead. One stopped directly over him and shoved an autogun in Shannegh's face. A boot kicked him onto his back and the man glared down at him. "Got a live one!"

"Give him the Emperor's justice" Lieutenant Eulogy called out. She appeared beside the man, wild strands of her blonde hair whipping across her face as she moved. Her cheeks were flushed with the excitement of battle and the prospect of winning glory. The rain had ruined her precisely-made bun but that did not bother her in the slightest. Gazing down at him, he read the twinge of disappointment that crossed her face. "Belay that order, he's one of ours. Reaper."

"Only you could make that sound like a bad thing" Shannegh chuckled. He rose to his feet, letting out a heavy sigh as he did, and looked around. The Praetorians darted from cover to cover, rising only to take shots at the defenders. He could see the enemy soldiers working desperately to set up defensive positions facing them. They worked with more terror than brains though, and accurate Praetorian fire tore into any fool that moved in the open.

"The rat said you had managed to work your way up the slope." She sniffed dismissively and stepped away from him. Her nose wrinkled as she took a whiff of the area. "I take it you found some explosives. Helsing said this area glowed like a governor's palace on his birthday. The entire defensive line knows we're here now, thank you very much."

"You're just jealous I beat you to the flank." He shifted past her and started forward. The Lieutenant muttered something under her breath and moved with him. Her bolt pistol, a gift from Helsing, added its weight to the din of battle. The high caliber explosive rounds tore bodies limb from limb.

They bounded forward alongside her Praetorians. The Lieutenant might have detested Shannegh, but she recognized his skills and knew better than to waste time trying to micromanage him. Not that he would have listened anyways. Advancing steadily, they shot their way down the line until they reached the junction point where the defenders were retreating further up the slope. Most tried to run up the narrow path that marked the easiest way up, others tried to clamber up the rocks. The Praetorians mowed them down mercilessly, sending dozens tumbling back down to their former positions. Ten minutes later a wave of defenders attempted a counter attack, but the descent was too steep for any real speed. After losing more than thirty men in the attempt all signs of the defenders vanished. They retreated out of sight to what had to be another prepared line.

The rain was letting up now, finally, and visibility began to improve. Mere minutes after repulsing the counter attack the first Tenean soldiers came scrambling over the enemy positions. They were blood-soaked, exhausted, and riled up for more action. On seeing the Praetorians had the situation well in hand they set about securing the top of the ravine and established defensive positions. Helsing arrived with their command element, a single lieutenant and a vox operator. The other officers had been killed at one point or another earlier in the day. He looked around with a satisfied expression before storming up to Shannegh and the lieutenant. She stiffened visibly and spent a moment smoothing her hair back. Not that Helsing would care what her appearance was. But habits were habits, and in the thirty seconds it took him to reach them she had managed to make herself more or less presentable.

"Ravine secured, sir."

"Well done." He looked directly at Shannegh, which drew an irritated glare from the lieutenant. His next words wiped the glare from the lieutenant's face. "Raise your right hand."

He did, eyebrow rising in confusion. The Inquisitor stared at him for a long moment before speaking again. "Just making sure you knew which was which. I told you to take the right flank. That was the _left_ flank."

"Anna said it was open" he responded, hardly bothered by the Inquisitor's demeanor. "And Gutterball and I could climb it."

"Yes, but their left flank had their artillery spotters. While you were prancing around up here they continued to rain mortars on the Teneans. They are nearly combat ineffective now. We'll have to sit here and wait for reinforcements before we can proceed."

"Beg pardon, Boss, but they had a spotter on this side too." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the firing pits. "A Mordian, actually. I'm pretty sure the mortars would have fallen whichever way we went."

"Did they now?" The Inquisitor fell silent, his glower showing remaining displeasure. He made no more mention of the topic, but turned to the lieutenant. "Superb action, as I have come to expect from your command, Lieutenant. What is the status of the defenders?"

"They have retreated up the ridge, sir. We inflicted heavy casualties on this position and on a counterattack they threw at us. One dead, two wounded." Her face seemed to glow when the Inquisitor gave her a pat on the shoulder. If that woman was capable of feeling any pleasure, this was how she got it. Acknowledgement from a superior.

"Excellent. Pull your men back and have them rest up. The Sergeant Nicolai's Thracians will stand guard for now. The Tenean commander has already voxed back for reinforcements but they will not be here until it is too late for another assault. We attack again in the morning."

"Understood, sir."

She saluted smartly before turning on her heel and going off to find her sergeant. Helsing waited for her to walk out of hearing range before turning to Shannegh.

"Tonight" he said. "The weather is clearing so you will have to be careful on the approach, but once you get inside their lines you should have no trouble. Just… clean yourself up a bit. You have blood all over yourself."

He looked down and examined himself. "Yeah, I'll get right on that. Can't have a bloody soldier walking around a battlefield."

The Inquisitor rolled his eyes and stormed off to give his next order. Heading away from the others, Shannegh walked until he was out of hearing and out of sight. A long-held shudder flooded his body and he sat down hard. His hands shook so badly that he stuff them under his armpits to keep them still. His last shot had been almost two days ago. He hadn't been this close to death in a while, the fight had burned through his adrenaline too quickly. When his hand began to shake less he fumbled in his belt for his supply of stimm shots. It took him four tries to select a single one-use shot and put it against his forearm. He stuck the needle in, breathing a sweet sigh of relief as adrenaline rushed into his system. A euphoric sensation surged through him, wiping away the weariness and the pain of his wounds. Especially the pain of the sharp shard of blade trapped against his spine. He almost felt whole.

"Still alive" he muttered, huddling up under his cloak. "You're still alive, Louk. You're still alive…"


	4. Missing Persons

_**Iora, Present Day**_

"Good evening, Miss Seeker." Louk gestured for her to join him. His mysterious remembrancer had moved in with them that morning, her only baggage being a simple mesh duffel bag. She was proving to be a welcome addition to the household, though she remained mostly in her room and did not take food with them. And she spoke little to them too, preferring to listen rather than speak. That was the way of the remebrancers, after all. Do not be seen, but see everything. He wondered what she looked like, under those stuffy robes. Not out of any carnal desires, he had long since lost any interest in pleasures of the flesh. It was spoiled to him now. But he had always retained his eye for beauty, and it was a shame, in his mind, that she remained hidden away.

When she did emerge, though always entombed in her heavy robes, the house seemed to warm at her presence. The lights shone brighter, the food taster sweeter. Even Jaycel's grimace seemed a touch less severe. Truly, she was a mystery to him.

And she was clearly a Seeker in more than name. The first thing she had done in her room was to discover and eliminate the various recording devices Jaycel had installed. She hadn't missed a single one, and it had taken her less than a half hour to remove them all. Louk was so impressed he forbade Jaycel from trying to put in more. It would be a waste of resources, and he doubted she was any sort of threat. A second attempt might insult her.

He had been sitting in his chair for an hour now. Ordinarily the time would have passed by in a blur, but he found himself to be counting the minutes, waiting, wanting her to arrive. It had been so long since he had someone who would sit and listen to him. He liked it far more than he was willing to admit.

At last Seeker had come out onto the patio with her stylus and her notepad. She said nothing. Slipping into her chair opposite his, she spent a moment adjusting in her seat before looking up at him expectantly. Well, he hoped it was expectantly. Her visor hid her eyes. What color were they? He liked to imagine they were blue. Blue eyes had always been his favorite.

"Still with me, I see" he mumbled. Seeker cocked her head to one side as if the question was ridiculous. "Just a little joke."

"Ah." She nodded her head, but gave no hint as to her own thoughts. Sighing quietly, Louk shook his head and turned back to the mountains.

"A one-track mind, you have." He lifted a hand and pointed. "You see that ravine there. That was where we attacked. That was where I snuck through the enemy's lines."

**Night of the Assault**

Shannegh slipped out of the shadows and fell in behind the squad of soldiers as they marched past. He had left the Inquisitor's side just after midnight. By the time he snuck up the slope the sentries were nearing replacement. They had been easy to sneak around. He just waited for their eyes to start drooping, their postures to relax at the thought of the incoming shift, and eased on by them. Not a soul noticed him. Once inside their lines he lurked about, getting a feel for the way the mercenaries moved. There was a distinct air of unease about, as was natural considering their position. Their little war was drawing to it inevitable end. He wagered that many of these mercenaries had not thought they would be facing the Imperial Guard when they signed up.

After spending an hour adapting to the way the men walked, talked, and acted he decided that the boldest approach would prove the easiest. There were simply too many men about for him to have a chance sneaking around, and no one minded a man on a mission. If anyone stopped him he would claim to be looking for more materials to shore up the defenses. Most of the men were doing that. Those not on guard duty at least.

The longer he walked alongside the men, the more worried he became for the Imperial forces below. Pillboxes and fortified positions littered the mountainside. If there was a bed-sized spread of even ground, a bolter or stubber had it covered. Most of the weapons appeared well-worn and scratched up from being dragged back as their lines collapsed, but several appeared unfired and glistened with cleaning oils. Engineers moved through the rougher patches, placing mines and tripwires and marking their locations with little red flags until it came time to activate them. Squads of soldiers lounged about at their stations, armed to the teeth with full flak armor and lasguns. He had not seen these sorts down below. This as the core of the defense, the elite guard. The Imperials still had a long way to go before they cracked the defenders.

Every so often he passed a gun emplacement. Unlike the Imperials, the defenders kept their artillery spread out instead of clustered in batteries. It worked to minimize the effectiveness of Imperial air strikes, and made it hard to pinpoint their location for counter-battery fire. Each gun had a working crew of twelve men attached to it, though half appeared as little more than extra hands to secure the cannons and fetch supplies. The larger guns lay silent now; the majority of Imperial forces had advanced below their field of fire.

The sheer amount of firepower the defenders had stockpiled staggered him. The Eldar had been prepared. Their defenses were so incredibly thorough and interconnected that he began to have serious doubts about the sufficiency of the current Imperial forces. They were about as entrenched as they could be. Hell, they might have been able to hold off Space Marines for a while. Had the Eldar known this would happen? Or worse, had they allowed themselves to be caught? Shannegh knew better than to overestimate the xenos, but everything he saw pointed to the Eldars' foreknowledge. And this was only their human defenses. What sort of sorcery did they have planned for when the Imperials finally broke through?

He was also surprised by the amount of men he saw. One would have thought they'd be running out of troops by now. The mountains were not very large and nine months of siege should have whittled them down to mere hundreds. Judging by the numbers he saw running about they must have had a few thousand in reserve still, men that hadn't even come into contact with the Imperial Guard forces. Intelligence had missed this completely. The nagging question in his head made a cold sweat threaten to break. How in all that was holy had they hid this many men and this much equipment? According to the casualty figures, and he took it as a given that they were padded, the enemy had almost an entire division's worth of soldiers and machinery. They might as well have been a Guard division minus the tank support. He could not fathom the power of sorcery it took to hide this many people, not to mention the colossal amounts of food and equipment needed to keep them going.

That level of sorcery made him nervous.

His tour of the defenses revealed everything he feared he would find except for the most obvious: where were the Eldar themselves? He had expected to spot them all over, parading around with their stiff-necked arrogance, ordering the mercenaries about their tasks, and generally being the pompous asses that he had heard so much about. They might be a sneaky race, but they were also supposed to be the most conceited xenos that could be found. Surely they would have been out organizing the defenses.

Or maybe they worked entirely through intermediaries. Dozens of officer-types could be found all over. Some wore uniforms, others didn't, but they could be identified by the black bands wrapping around their upper left arms. They shouted and gestured with their weapons, sending men scurrying to their duties in record time. Would have made Imperial lieutenants jealous with the way their soldiers leapt to it. Still, he had yet to lay eyes on a single Eldar. Shannegh did not know if he should be relieved or disappointed by that oddity. On the one hand, it meant he did not have to fear being psychically discovered by a watching xenos. On the other hand, where the hell were they? It was a pretty damn important variable that he did not enjoy wondering about.

At last he came to an entrance into the deeper caves. Long ago the Teneans had gone through a savage period of war between the city-states. Fearing a nuclear strike, the Iorans had prepared bomb shelters in these mountains. The Eldar had appropriated them for their own purposes. The massive blastproof gate had been raised to allow traffic through, but automated turrets tracked those going in and out. Three guards stood on either side of the entrance, though they seemed to have little interest in their duties. It wasn't like the Imperials were going to be sneaking spies in or anything, right? Shannegh grinned faintly and broke off from the squad and fell in with a cluster of men shuffling towards the gate. Most were wounded and unarmed. He assumed they had left their weapons behind for their comrades to use. Seeing this, he stayed in the rear and held his lascarbine against his thigh. Hopefully they wouldn't notice, but if they did he doubted it would be a problem.

A pair of Leman Russ tanks could have driven through the gate sponson-to-sponson. While there appeared to be no official separation for inflow and outflow, what vehicles he saw clung to the outsides while men walked in the middle. A steady stream of trucks crawled out of the caves, laden with artillery shells, ammunition crates, and other war utilities. Each truck that drove by meant another score or more of dead Guardsmen. He stopped counting when he crossed under the gate. The thought was too morbid to continue entertaining.

Overhead illumination lights guided their path. Sticking with the main flow, he noted that every kilometer or so the tunnel branched. At the third such branch they joined another stream of men and trucks. It encouraged him to see that most of the traffic was coming towards him. That meant he was closing in on the center. The urge to storm on ahead weighed heavily on him, but he resisted and remained with the wounded. Anything out of the ordinary could get him into trouble.

He walked for what felt like hours, though it couldn't have been more than five kilometers. The mountain was only so large and this path did very little winding. His first clue that they were about to exit the tunnel came in the form of growing lights before them. Whatever it was ahead, it was bright as a sunny day. He feared for a moment he had overshot and reached the other side of the mountain, but as they drew nearer his ears picked up on far too much noise and chatter to have been a frontline position. The enemy was smarter than that. No, this was the conclave area. Grim satisfaction soothed his aching nerves, and he tipped his head back a little to get a better view.

The tunnel came out at an entrance half a kilometer above the conclave. There was a plateau large enough for a Thunderhawk to land and unload it cargo, then their path took a sharp left and began zigzagging its way to the ground floor. Shannegh took note of it all absently. His attention stole immediately to the sight before him. The Iorans had hollowed out most of the mountain and transplanted their own little city in its place. It was designed in a series of concentric circles culminating in a central tower that was a miniaturized, meaning only twenty-storey, replica of the same Senate Tower in Iora. Towering ten-storey apartment habs presented a ring around the edge of the city. Just inside lay hydroponic farms and greenhouses. Inwards of that came what he assumed were the offices and work places. The innermost ring contained what appeared to be two half-sized factories and three different barracks structures. Eighty thousand people could have fit in this city inside the mountain.

"That explains the numbers" he murmured to himself. The city appeared entirely self-sufficient, even with its own mine at the bottom of the ramp they were descending. He could see hundreds of workers dragging out wagons filled with raw ore and dumping them straight into chutes that led over to a refinery. Armed men formed a ring around the mine area, facing inwards. Surprised, Shannegh looked on and spotted several officers with whips moving about the throng of workers. Every so often a whip cracked and a miner stumbled. No one stopped to help the fallen. He did not know if those miners were native Teneans, slaves from off-planet or malcontents. He didn't like it either way.

When his group reached the bottom of the ramp he caught his first glimpse of the mysterious xenos warriors. Four tall figures clad in white armor watched over the trail of men and vehicles. Their bullet-shaped helmets twitched back and forth as they searched the passing bodies. The brow of their helms loomed over their eyepieces, giving the glowing green lenses sunken and menacing attitudes. Every so often one of the xenos warriors would stalk into the throng and pull a startled person free. Angry words would be exchanged before the man was shoved back into the crowd and continued on.

From a distance they appeared just as imposing and ominous as Shannegh thought they would be. When one looked his way he shrank back into the crowd and shifted over to put a few more bodies between them. He knew just enough about the Eldar to suspect that any of those warriors could by a psyker. They were supposed to have incredible rates of witches among their people.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the ground floor. He prayed the entire way down, hoping for some bit of luck to get him past the xenos guards. As much as he had prepared for this, he had no idea how to handle the Eldar. What little he knew came out of redacted documents Helsing had deigned to give him. And a couple that he had stolen, but even that struck him as little more than Imperial propaganda. The Eldar's most powerful warriors were women, hah! Had to be a lie.

Seeing that there was too much scrutiny at the foot of the ramp, he drew his lascarbine out from under his appropriated cloak and slung it over his shoulder. The camo-cloak would have drawn too much attention here, so he had nabbed a rucksack and packed it in, switching the precious material for a rough fabric poncho he found hanging out to dry. The pistol had been shoved in the back of his pants and he had rolled his pant legs over the kopis, leaving it bare against his leg. The uncomfortable touch of metal against his bare skin made him shiver from time to time. It reminded him too much of the metal encircling his spine.

When it came time for him to pass the Eldar warriors he ducked his head and pushed on through. The man to his left was dragged out of the throng for questioning, and the commotion allowed him to sneak a closer look at the xenos. What he saw left him so confused he nearly stopped walking.

They weren't xenos. The armor was xenos, the weapons were xenos, but the beings before him were not Eldar. Though slender and tall, the armored suits did not sit well on them and there were gaps between the plates. The skin under those gaps was tanned and hairy. The Eldar were supposed to be a fair-skinned and mostly hairless race. And they spoke in the guttural Low Gothic he instantly spotted from life in an underhive. Those were humans wearing the xenos armor. Glancing around at the others, he confirmed that none of the supposed Eldar warriors were indeed Eldar.

Where were the real Eldar?

He remembered to keep moving before he caused a ruckus. Carrying on, he stayed with the stream until it disintegrated just inside the first line of habs. Men went everywhere, some seeking rest, others medical aide, others carried on with their orders. Knowing he was on a timeline, Shannegh continued towards the center of the city. He could sight-see after he found a few targets. A high vantage point would have been good for scouting the place, but he had spent the walk down the ramp surveying the city. By now he possessed a fairly good map in his mind. And the city was hardly laid out in a confusing manner.

He walked for the better part of an hour before reaching the area that had initially been planned as a marketplace. From above he saw that this ring of the city was composed of rounded squares each capable of holding three thousand men in parade formation. It seemed now that each square had been transformed into either a medical, communications, or chow facility. The square immediately to the right of the main road held nothing but longs rows of benched tables with chow lines surrounding them. At least two hundred men sat around the tables, eating and talking in small groups. His stomach rumbled at the smell of food. He had been eating field rations for two days now, and he hungered for a real meal. Deciding that he could afford the detour, he cut off the road and jumped in line.

The cooks slapped a ladleful of mushy gravy and a single serving of carrots onto his platter. The only drink they had was water, and even that was rationed to half a cup. Shannegh felt at least a bit of satisfaction knowing that they were running low on food. All the ammunition in the galaxy couldn't help if they starved to death. But then again, they would be growing desperate now. Hopefully that would lead some to surrender.

He took a seat within hearing range of a few groups, eager to listen in for information. It was mostly typical soldier talk: rampant discontent with the situation, bragging of past battles, commiserating about the lack of eligible women, and bitching about the food. That last one he completely agreed with. The much on his plate was hardly edible. He had to choke it down with the little water he had been issued, and the carrots were tougher than rocks. When he finished his platter Shannegh realized he was hungrier than when he had first walked in.

The only useful bit of news he picked out of the grumbling was that not much had been heard from the Senate Tower in the past few days, and the men seemed more than keen to gripe about the Eldar out loud. They weren't even subtle about it, which would have struck him as dangerous except that he still had not seen a single true Eldar. Every so often he saw a human in Eldar armor prowling about, but never an actual xenos. Well, not an actual Eldar. He spotted a couple other xenos types wandering about, massive blue-furred apelike creatures. The humans went out of their way to avoid those. That was another important piece of information he made sure to remember.

His meal done, Shannegh saw no more reason to stick around. That would only invite trouble. He rose from the bench and looked around for a place to deliver his empty dishes.

"Going my way?" A slim hand crept down his arm until it gripped his wrist. Startled, Shannegh turned towards the speaker. The Scintillan ex-body slave smiled impishly at him with her glittering black eyes. The sharp point of a dagger tickled his side, hidden from sight by his own cloak. "Let's take a walk, handsome. Leave the platter."

She nudged gently with the dagger. Realizing that he had nothing to gain by resisting, Shannegh obeyed. They walked away from the tables and out of the square. No one took notice of their departure or of the fact that they moved into a little side alley instead of onto the main road. The woman pushed him along until they were well into the alley and away from windows. Her hand on his wrist yanked him forward and she shoved him into the wall. Shannegh caught himself with both hands and came back swinging, but she ducked under his fist with a dancer's grace. Suddenly her dagger pressed his throat. Exerting just a touch of pressure, she forced his chin up and eased him back against the wall.

"Easy there" she murmured. "Hands where I can see them."

He reluctantly lifted his hands into the air on either side of his head. The woman did not break his gaze. Her free hand patted him down, finding his weapons but not taking them away. When she finished searching him she nodded in satisfaction.

"Right, then. I know your face but I can't remember your name. Who do you serve?"

"The Inquisition, same as you" Shannegh growled. She grimaced and pressed the blade harder against his throat. He rose to his toes to keep it from leaving a mark. "Someone's gonna notice a big red line on my throat, you know."

"Give me a name" she hissed. "Because if you give me the wrong one then you won't have to worry about someone finding that mark. They'll be finding your severed head."

"Helsing." Shannegh tensed his body, ready to spring on the woman if she tried anything. He was fairly confident he could knock her dagger from his throat before she could slice it, but after that it would be a toss-up. A fight would serve no one's interests.

Thankfully, the woman's eyes brightened at the name. The dagger fell away and she took a step back. A sheepish grin stole across her face and she held out her hand.

"And I serve Farragut. We are of like mission here."

"You've got a funny way of showing it" Shannegh muttered as he massaged his throat. He spent a moment looking her over, admiring the tight fit of her leather and chainmail armor. It was a serious suit, not the sort of dainty girl-armor he had seen other women wear into combat. Purely functional without a hint of adjustment towards her more attractive attributes. She had done a good job minimizing her femininity. Her lustrous black hair had been slashed to a boyish cut, and her face was smeared with dirt-makeup to hide her delicate features. It took one look to see that battle was not her specialty. She had a laspistol shoved into a shoulder holster and the dagger in her hand, but other than that she was unarmed.

"Louk" he said, taking her hand. "And you are?"

"Getta." She laughed all of the sudden, putting her dagger away in its scabbard at her hip as she did. "Now I remember. You're the one that kept spying on me when I bathed back at camp."

"Entirely guilty" he said without a hint of shame. He turned away from the square and motioned for her to come along. She walked alongside him, her hands swinging freely and away from her weapons. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Half the morning" she said. They slipped out of the alley and took to the main road. The level of traffic was lighter here, but just heavy enough for them to not draw attention. "I came up last night and slept in the tunnels. You?"

"A little less. Just got into town, so to speak."

"How is your knowledge of our friends?"

"Bordering somewhere between nil and nothing."

"Then I will take the lead. I know a fair bit about them."

"I was just about to say 'Ladies first'."

She rolled her eyes. 'I've scouted the outer rings and found nothing of real value. The majority of their leadership appears to be concentrated in the Senate Tower."

"Any sign of commo?"

"Everywhere. They had redundant communications stations. Blow one and there are two more waiting for it."

"Xenos tech?"

"Haven't found much. I think they keep it all in the tower. Most of it, anyways."

They spent the better portion of four hours moving through the streets. At Getta's advice they walked each ring of the city, checking every building and seeing what they could see. Lots of activity, plenty of low level targets, and absolutely nothing that garnered serious attention. It was as if the Eldar didn't exist.

There was a checkpoint to get into the plaza around the replica Senate Tower. Shannegh hesitated at the sight, wondering how they would get through. Was it DNA-scanned, password, secret handshake…? Getta reassured him that she could handle it, so at her insistence they made their way towards the guards. Most wore flak armor and carried heavy weapons: grenade launchers and flamethrowers and the like. A single xenos creature that he had never seen before accompanied them. It was a tall and gangly thing with two sets of arms and long double-jointed legs. Its body shined nearly translucent in the soft light. He could see its organs pumping and twisting in its gut and legs, but the creature carried two massive swords that each could have split a truck in half. And it wore no armor either, which instantly upped his estimation of the xenos' fighting skills.

"Good morning" Getta chimed at the first guard to approach them. Shrugging her soldierly posture away like a cloak, she slipped straight into a agriworlder-twang complete with lively bouncing to her step and a playful running of her tongue against her teeth. She gave the man a cheerful wink and made a show of wiping some of the grit from her face. A very familiar look stole across the guard's face for a moment when the man recognized that the person before him was a woman. "I've got to see Colonel Russo. Mind if we pass by?"

"We ain't been told 'bout no chickie comin' through." The man tore his eyes away from her and looked Shannegh over. "Who's he?"

"This is Remy" Getta said quickly, cutting Shannegh off before he could speak. "He's my… _confidante_, if you know what I mean."

The man clearly didn't know what the word meant, but he nodded along with her and raised an eyebrow in what he thought must have been an appraising manner. "Confi… yeah, sounds a'right. But we ain't heard anything 'bout you. Whad'ja say yer name is?"

"Polly, sweet thing."

Some kind of light burst in the man's scrawny little brain. His eyes widened a touch and he straightened up, hands flitting about to tuck his jacket down tighter and make his clothing more presentable. The dour grimace on his face became one of hopeful doe-eyed admiration.

"Yes ma', we's see you through." He turned back to the guards and waved for them to step aside. "They's clear, boys. Is Polly ta see the Colonel."

Shannegh kept the wonder from his face as the guards leapt in their skins. Suddenly they were surrounded by eager smiles. The attention fell solely on Getta, and she handled it like a pro. Flashing a grin there, winking here, patting a cheek, until they made their way past the checkpoint and the guards had to return to their posts. Getta turned back to them and blew a kiss, which made the men all blush and get to muttering in clusters over it.

It took a whole lot of effort to wait until they were out of hearing range.

"Okay, what the _fecking hell_ was that?"

The Scintillan smirked and tucked her hand back through his arm. "I overheard a few names while I was scoping the place out. Thought they'd do the trick."

"I figured that much out" Shannegh snapped. He cast a nervous look back at the receding checkpoint. "But who the hell is Colonel Russo and what's a Polly?"

Her grin grew impish. "Colonel Russo is the chief human commander. Most of the men are his. 88th Kairn Penal Legion."

"They're Penals?" Shannegh groaned. "Guess that explains why they fight so hard. Not only are they looking at aiding the xenos, but they've already had strikes on their records. They're more fecked than a Commissar in an Ork camp."

"Yes, well, what did you expect?"

"More Eldar, that's for damn sure. I haven't spotted a single one of those pointy-eared bastards yet."

"Neither have I" she murmured. Her free hand came up and played with the lace of her leather chestpiece."That has been bothering me somewhat."

"Think they're all in…" Shannegh stopped walking and pulled her suddenly towards an indented corner on one of the nearby buildings. Clamping a hand over her mouth to be safe, he pressed himself over her as far into the shadows as they could go. Getta did not struggle, though her head twisted to try and see what he had seen. When she saw it her body stiffened and she even stopped breathing.

Three buildings down, opposite the Senate Tower's western entrance, stood an armored but relatively unremarkable one storey structure. The walls were painted a dull reddish-brown color to blend in with the interior of the mountain, and no significant antennas or bulky machinery qualified it as an obvious target. But two things had made Shannegh notice it. One, it had no windows which meant it was a secured building. And two, a ghostly pale apparition had just stalked out of the structure's door. The being was everything Shannegh had thought an Eldar would be. Incredibly tall, with skin so white it might have been blended naked in fresh snow, with long pointed ears and an angular, haughty face that played a mockery of a human one. The xenos warrior walked with graceful, determined steps as it crossed the distance between the building and the Senate Tower with a jogging man's speed. Its pale eyes burned with such fire and intensity that Shannegh could see it from where they stood a hundred meters away.

But something about that Eldar struck him as wrong. This one wore nothing like the armor that he had seen by the ramp to the city. Instead of heavy, body-covering mesh plate armor the xenos wore scaled black pieces that protected the vital organs while leaving plenty of bare flesh. Dozens of scars decorated that exposed skin, and he was fairly certain the xenos were supposed to be strict on keeping their bodies all nice and clean. Instead of a xenos carbine he wore a brace of slender but odd-shaped pistols on his hips and wore what looked like a whip wrapped around his thin waist. In Shannegh's opinion he looked more like a slaver than a fighter.

"That's one of _them_" he hissed to Getta. The Scintillan nodded against the hand over her mouth. Despite her earlier perkiness, terror filled her eyes at the sight of such a creature. She eased a hand up to the butt of her laspistol. "Easy. Let it go."

The xenos figure disappeared into the Senate Tower. Moving back out of the corner, Shannegh released Getta and advanced towards the building. This was his first sighting of a real Eldar. It was safe to say his curiosity had been piqued and now he wanted to know what had drawn the reclusive xenos out into the open. Something important had to be in there.

"What are you doing" Getta hissed. She walked at his side, hands clenched and tucked under her armpits to prevent them from shaking. "Are you trying to get us killed? There could be more Eldar in there."

"I just want to take a look" he promised.

"My orders were to remain out of contact."

"As were mine." Shannegh looked back at her and shrugged. "What's your point?"

"Are you planning on going in there?" The disbelief showed on her face. "We should just mark it and move on."

"But we have no idea what's inside. For all we know that's the xenos shithouse. How'd Inquisitor Farragut appreciate taking time out of the battle and hunt to go stare at alien bombers?"

"You're being childish" she snapped. Her anger wavered as Shannegh approached the door and studied it. The xenos had not shut it all the way. Motioning for her to stay quiet, he eased over and placed his ear to the opening. Getta did likewise after a moment's hesitation. Ears burning, they listened to the voices inside.

"… telling ya, those black one's sure as cut ya. They's got wicked souls, if them aliens even got souls."

"Wot'sit matter? The Guardies are coming, sure 'nough. Col' Russo got us inna…_hic_… inna nasty corner. We ain't getting' away. Should… _hic_… have some fun 'fore that happens."

"You 'eard the boss's orders. No touchin' the Eldar."

Shannegh shot Getta a quizzical look. She returned it, one eyebrow cocked in a delicate but inquisitive manner. What was going on in this city?

"Like anyun'd miss a couple of 'em. There's… _hic_… plenny more. Me knife's getting restless, not being used an' all. Needs sum blood ta sharpen it."

"Orders is orders! Put dat knife away 'fore I shove it up ya arse."

Shannegh casually reached behind his back and drew the autopistol. His companion saw the motion and her eyes widened in shock. Holding up a finger to remind her to be silent, he tapped the muffle and pointed inside. Something akin to dismay crossed her face, and she gave him a nasty look. But her hand went to her knife and she eased it into her grip.

_I am going to kill you,_ she mouthed. The rogue winked back at her and counted down with his fingers.

"Shove off, ya blathering nutta. I's just tal-_hic_-king 'bout it, s'all. Emperor's pissbucket, I wasn't expecting the Imperial Inquisition!"

Shannegh threw his shoulder into the door. It had just enough resistance to keep him from flying through and faceplanting on the floor. Sweeping the area in front of him with his pistol, he fired a short burst into the first person to cross his vision: a grease slob of a dark-skinned man with a broad meat cleaver in his hand. The .380 caliber pistol rounds stitched a jagged pattern up his chest, painting the wall behind him with red. Next in line was a tall and bony wretch with an antique shotgun resting across his lap and his hands behind his head. His feet were flailing madly as he fell back over in his chair when Shannegh cut his autopistol across and ended his life with a second burst that sent him sprawling ass-over-head into the corner.

"Nobody expects the Imperial Inquisition" Shannegh crowed. He stood in the entrance of the building, his pistol aimed at the ground, taking great delight not only in the speed of their executions but also in the well-played timing of his quip. He was sure he had heard a joke similar to that in some old film. Pity no one was around to appreciate his wit. Well, he glanced back at Getta… yeah, no one who _would_ appreciate it.

Seeing no more targets, Shannegh stepped to the side and allowed Getta to enter. She nearly tripped over her feet in her rush to get inside. Crossing to the far side of the room, she inspected the solitary door that led further in.

"Could you have made any more of a mess" she whined, picking her way around the bloody corpses of the dead men. "Throne, now what are we going to do? We've almost three days or more before the Guard arrives."

"Not my problem." He spent a minute examining his handiwork before gesturing to the wall. "These look like steel with a layer of paint. Water'll take it right off. Find a closet to stuff the bodies in, some towel or sheets to sop up the blood, and we've got our own little duty station right next to the Senate Tower. I think it's perfect."

"I cannot believe you." The woman shoved her knife back into its scabbard and checked the shotgun. Her grimace told him the weapon was not in good condition. "You are an absolute scoundrel."

"I've been told. Come on, this isn't so bad. We can just…" he sifted through the papers on the desk the men had been next to. Mostly junk papers, but there was a book with what looked like a list of names. He could not make it out because it was written in some xenos script, or so he assumed. Reading wasn't a strong point of his. Flipping through the most recent pages, he spotted a few lines repeated over and over. "Hey, I think this might be a visitor or something. Maybe that Eldar we just saw leave. See, this… word… keeps getting repeated. And it's the last one too."

Getta leaned over the book and sniffed. "The ink is still drying. It must be. Now if only we could read it."

"Well, what about this one?"

A second line seemed to be repeated alongside the first, though only perhaps half as often. Piecing together what he remembered from Inquisitor Helsing's lessons about duty rosters and log books, he began to realize that he was indeed looking at some sort of guest list. That wasn't the right name for it, but he went with it. Those columns were arrivals, and those were departures, perhaps? He never had been much for this kind of stuff. That's what the others were for.

"Louk, are you seeing this?" Getta pointed at both columns. "Those two names are here, but only the first is over here."

Her face paled and she glanced nervously at the inner door. Shannegh stared at the page for a long minute, unsure if he was understanding her point. Two had gone in, but only one had gone… oh feck.

"There's an Eldar in here with us" Shannegh muttered. His mind went numb for the span of four heartbeats, hardly any time at all with the rate it burst into pumping. Guided by instinct, he went over to the entry door and pushed it hard to ensure it was closed. Sliding both of the locks, he secured it against opening. The Scintillan let out a suppressed cry at his action.

"What are you doing? We need to get out of here!"

"We wouldn't last a damn hour" Shannegh snarled, cursing his own brashness. Hindsight had eagle vision, or so the saying went, and he was right in the middle of wondering what he had been thinking. "If we run now they'll know for sure we were here, and Eldar can track a snowflake through a blizzard. I'd rather take my chances killing the bastard here."

"Us… killing one of them?" She flinched at the thought, hand going to her throat. Fear radiated out of her in such powerful waves that he could almost feel it tickle his skin. "But we… that's imp-"

"Eldar are just as mortal as we are" he promised her, not sure if he believed his own words. Dropping beside the corpses, he searched them until he found a set of keys. "Stow that crap and get your laspistol ready. I'll lead because I've got more experience than you do. Trust me, we have the advantage. It doesn't know we're here yet."

"I will pray your first shot strikes true then."

Following meekly, Getta readied her laspistol and nudged the safety nub to arm the weapon. It was a big piece for a pistol, and in her thin hands it appeared oversized. Shannegh nodded in approval before drawing his lascarbine. He would need the extra firepower here, and damn the noise. If his instincts were right this building could resist a tank shelling.

Putting one hand on the door, he looked back at Getta and forced a smile. "Best of luck" he murmured.

Through the door stretched a short hallway with mirrored glass on the right side. Shannegh hurried on, knowing that anyone on the other side would be undetectable unless he got into the sideroom, which would have its entrance further in. The second door opened freely, swinging on its hinge with a faint creak. Darting in, he planted his right food hard and kicked off to launch himself left and out of the doorway while he searched for targets.

Eldar. And another. And another and another and…

His finger rested on the trigger but his mind refused to send the order. Stunned, he gazed at the dozen-plus sets of eyes staring back at him. There were tons of Eldar in the room. Blonde ones, brunettes, men and women, even what looked like a child. Some appeared afraid, others angry. All of them were staring at him.

And they were locked in cells.

"Feck me" Shannegh gasped, unable to comprehend what he was looking at. Getta came tearing into the room a moment later, her mouth opening in a silent scream at the sheer number of bodies before her. Trembling badly, she lifted her laspistol on reflex. Shannegh swung his lascarbine over and knocked the pistol higher so her shot merely splashed into the steel ceiling.

"Hold your fire" he hissed, speaking words that hadn't quite formed into coherence. "They're… feck, they're prisoners."

"Oh Throne," Getta breathed, her face alternating between pale-white and sickly-green. White won out and she hastily lowered her laspistol. Her own amazement compelled her to step forward and approach the cells. "What the hell are we looking at?"

"I guess this explains why we haven't seen many Eldar about" Shannegh ventured. He started when he remembered there were more doors to cover. Rushing to the sideroom entrance, he kicked it open and checked inside: empty. Satisfied, he returned to the center of the room and observed as Getta crept closer. She had put her weapons away and walked with her hands wringing before her waist. Approaching a cell, she put her face near the bars and gazed intently at the nearest Eldar.

It was a woman. Though she sat on a bench Shannegh could tell she would stand taller than him if she rose. She wore a form-clinging undersuit of black mesh that showed off her alien physique with startling, and somewhat arousing, detail. Thin legs with sinewy muscles, bony hips that seemed crushed together moreso than a human's would be, a dainty but muscular waist, narrow shoulders and long arms that were crossed defiantly over her chest. Her neck and face remained uncovered, showing just how exotic and alien the Eldar were. It was as if an artist had taken a human mold and stretched it all just slightly. It was subtle, but noticeable. Her chin was just a little too pointed, her eyes too large and angled, her cheekbones curved to frame her face in a captivating way. Not sexily captivating, just… hard to look away from. But her ears, those were different. They were long and pointed, unlike even the oddest human's. Her reddish-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, let loose and free even though he could tell it was not her hairstyle of choice. He knew a lot about hairstyling, but that was a whole other story.

The Eldar spat what was probably a curse at Getta, but remained seated.

"Look at that" Shannegh said, striding over to stand beside the Scintillan woman. He pointed past the angry one at the child. The others had shifted over to stand or sit between the child and the bars. Entirely understandable from where he stood. "You don't hear about Eldar children very often."

"Their species is supposed to be dying" Getta whispered, awe filling her tone. "Long lives but few children. An Eldar child is a rare thing indeed."

Her words sparked a wave of anger across the Eldar in the cell. They both backpedaled as the angry one and a couple others rose and started chattering in their xenos tongue. The rage was palpable, as was the protectiveness. Putting a hand on Getta's shoulder, he eased her back and jabbed towards the bars with his lascarbine.

"Shut up, you damn fools." His eyes darted through the cells, seeking any that reminded him of the one he had seen outside. These appeared to be an entirely different breed, and not just in skin and hair color either. A couple here and there wore the black undersuits, but the others wore robes of mostly white fabric with red or blue patterns woven into the sleeves, collars, hems, etcetera. All of them wore some sort of necklace that held a bright gem. Two kinds of Eldar? And these in prison while the others walked the streets? "Getta, what in all that is holy have we stumbled onto? This isn't at all what I was briefed on."

"Nor me" she agreed, nodding along. "Just think of it, here we've been blaming the Eldar for all this and they've been the prisoners."

"Because they _clearly_ are all lovey-dovey about us humans." Shannegh realized the reddish-blonde was glaring at him, _had been_ glaring at him, without blinking this entire time. Her gaze unsettled him, made his skin crawl. When he dared look back he found himself staring into eyes of the clearest blue. Countless ages of life swirled in those startling orbs, holding more wisdom and suffering and rage than he could begin to imagine. And it was all directed at him. He wanted to shoot her dead on the spot for worry she might tear through the bars with her bare hands and beat him to death. For some terrifying reason he feared she might be able to do just that.

"I… I just had a thought. Be right back." Getta disappeared back into the hallway, leaving Shannegh alone in the room with all of the Eldar. Some of the xenos had gone back to whatever they had been doing before he stormed in. Others remained staring. The ones in the undersuits all stared. Those must have been soldiers, and that was what they wore beneath their armor. How had the Penal Legion taken them out? He couldn't imagine a gang of miscreants taking on an army of peerless warriors like the Eldar…

On second thought, maybe a Penal Legion was perfectly suited for the task. He had no idea what kind of Penal Legion they were, whether the hardcore brutes or simply indentured criminals. The former could have all kinds of psychopaths in their ranks. That was exactly the kind of people that could, if coordinated well enough, achieve something like this. But how had this Colonel Russo kept that firm a hand on his men? Oh, the questions that burned in his mind.

When Getta returned she had the logbook in her hands. Scurrying over to a table, she set the book down and motioned for him to come over. It took her a few seconds of page-flipping to find what she was looking for.

"Here, see. This must be the list of them. There are… twenty two names listed here, all with that marking which I'm pretty sure is a date."

"Twenty two" Shannegh muttered, looking back up at the cells. He made a quick headcount. Twenty one. Frowning, he checked again. Again, he came up one short. "Then we have a problem."

"You don't think that one was the twenty second" Getta asked, frowning as she considered her own question.

"No, that couldn't make sense." Shannegh strode over to the reddish-blonde, he decided to just call her Angry Eyes in his head for simplicity's sake, and made a show of lowering his weapon. "I'm assuming that you can understand us, so I'm going to try and be clear here. We're not on your side. We're with the Inquisition."

Angry Eyes continued to stare at him, but the other Eldar exchanged looks. Whether they recognized the name or not, he could not tell. To be honest he did not know if it mattered. Probably didn't.

"Imperial forces are pounding their way up the mountain and will be here in a matter of days. I can't promise you about what'll happen then, but I can tell you right now, we don't plan on being caught by the current residents of this city. We're looking at staking this place as a home until that happens, but I need a promise that you'll be good neighbors, do you ken?

"Before this goes any further though, I have a couple questions. One, why are you in the cells when your black-armored buddy was out walking around. You guys shirk on the human-lording or something?"

Angry Eyes's face twisted with rage and she spat on the floor. "_Druchii!_"

"And she speaks" Shannegh said with a wave to Getta. "Any idea what that means?"

Getta looked up from the logbook and shook her head. She had procured parchment and a writing pen from somewhere and was making notes.

"Okay then," he turned back to Angry Eyes. "I'm going to just assume there are two factions of you xenos morons here and one's taken over the other. Look angrier if I'm right."

He had meant it to be slightly humorous, but somehow she did actually make her face angrier. Not that he knew if that was in response to his command or simply out of hatred for his being on the other side of the bars. Still, he took it as a yes.

"What about number twenty two, then? Isn't there supposed to be one more of you?"

He pointed towards an empty spot in the cell in hopes it would help communicate his question. The Eldar nearest the spot looked at it, then back at him in confusion. None seemed to understand, or if they did they pretended they did not. Sighing heavily, Shannegh began pointing to each in turn and counted them off. When he reached the number twenty two he pointed to the empty spot.

"You're missing one, right? Where is he, she, whatever the hell your kind call your genders?"

One of the male Eldar in an undersuit stood up. He pointed to the remaining door, the one Shannegh hadn't gone in yet. The sign above it read _BASEMENT_. More unintelligible words poured out of his mouth as he spoke until Angry Eyes shot him a withering look and barked a command. Chastened, he fell silent and returned to his seat. But that was all Shannegh needed. Shooting Angry Eyes a cheeky grin, he stretched his hand through the bars and patted her cheek before she could turn back to resume her glaring. He had to wrench his hand back to avoid getting his wrist broken by her lightning-fast slap.

"See, that wasn't so hard, sugarplum. I'll be right back."

His companion was buried up to her nose in the logbook. As he approached the basement door he glanced over and discovered she was trying to decipher the xenos script. She looked up when he patted her shoulder.

"I'm going to check down there" he said, pointing to the door. "If you don't hear from me in ten, run."

"You know just the right words to scare the piss out of me" she groaned. Reaching to her holster, she drew her laspistol and laid it on the table beside her papers. "I should have just ignored you out there."

"Yeah, might have been better for your health. But where's the fun in caution?"

Approaching the door, Shannegh took a deep breath and double-checked his lascarbine's power pack. His hands crept towards the handle when the same Eldar who had spoken before stood again and caught his attention.

"_Druchii_" the man said urgently. He held up a single finger. "_Druchii!_"

"One bad guy" Shannegh muttered. That was what he had expected. Nodding his thanks, he opened the door and left the cell room.

The stairs down were dark and claustrophobic. Drywall hemmed in the sides, giving barely enough space to avoid scraping his shoulders as he stalked down. Thankfully the steps were solid and did not creak. At the bottom of the stairs stood an unreinforced door. Shannegh approached it cautiously, wishing he had one of those auspex devices to tell him what was on the other side. His hands shook and he could feel the sweat where his fingers rubbed together. Every breath sounded unusually harsh and seemed to echo in his ears.

He had never fought an Eldar before. Men were bad enough. What would he see down there? Would this be a sorcerer, with all sorts of warp tricks and demons to unleash? Would it be an acrobatic fury of blades that could run off walls and twist though his gunfire? His lips had gone dry and when he tried to recite a prayer his throat cracked. Deciding it was better to remain silent, both for the sake of keeping undetected and for his spirits, he continued on until he reached the door.

Unlike the other doors, this one had been made of a sturdy but comparatively fragile plasteel slab that didn't quite seal against the floor. He heard a voice on the other side. It was silky and dangerous, the words slithering against his ears like snakes. The voice went on, almost like a man giving a speech, interrupted only by the occasional crack of a whip. With each crack came a muffled and agonized moan. Someone was torturing somebody in there. Shannegh's skin crawled as the whip sounded three times in a row.

A spasm of pain started in his lower back and crept up the length of his torso. He remembered the whip all too well. The permanent reminder lodged against his spine flared with mind-splitting agony. Biting back a gasp, he staggered back and sat down on the stairs. He bit his tongue until he tasted his blood, hot tears running down his cheeks as he tried to contain the unexpected pain. Throne, he could hardly feel his fingers. The sound of a whip brought back terrible memories, the kind that he remembered so vividly in a way that only pain could bring.

He didn't know how long he sat there, writhing on the stairs in crippling pain as the metal shard grated against his nerve endings. At one point he feared he might pass out, but the pain began to eventually subside and he sagged to the floor, whimpering to himself as the searing pain dulled. His left hand had clenched so tight he had dislocated two finger joints. Popping them back into place, he winced and struggled to stand back up. He had to lean against the lascarbine for a long minute as he caught his breath.

It had been years since he heard a whip's crack. He hadn't thought the sound could be so terrifying, but it was. Just hearing it had been enough to tear aside his stimm-boosted adrenaline that blocked the pain.

But now wasn't the time to think of that. He had a job to do, and someone to kill. Staggering over to lean on the wall next to the door, he waited for his limbs to feel back under his control before lifting a foot and kicking the door. He could still hear the voice on the other side. That meant whoever it was hadn't heard him in the stairwell. And he could tell exactly where the man was standing. He would not hesitate this time. If he saw a live body he would shoot first and stop to wonder later.


	5. This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**Warning - This chapter has somewhat graphic post-torture in it.**_

_**Thank you to Lord Ares and SpecialRelativity for the kind reviews. It's nice things like that which help me stay focused on writing.**_

_**I will give internet brownie points (and the invitation to have a small cameo later on in the story) to anyone who can guess who the Remembrancer is. PM me if you have a guess (you are allowed 1**_**).**

* * *

_**Iora, Present Day**_

"Are you ready?" Seeker leaned forward in her seat, stylus trembling over her notepad. Louk cast her a sidelong look and raised an eyebrow.

"Patience, Miss Seeker. I told you this story would take some time."

"But you did not tell me you were going to leave me waiting all day for a simple answer." She might have been glaring at him behind her visor.

"So impatient" he sighed. "Though I must wonder, why are you so eager to hear the answer? I am sure you already know it. For that matter, I am curious as to why you bothered coming to me for the truth. Surely your imagination is more colorful than my droll tale."

"_The Story may spark Imagination_," Seeker recited. "_But the Truth will start a Revolution_."

"Is that what you want, a revolution against the Imperium?"

"Of course not!" Seeker shook her head. "That was not what I meant."

"I know what you meant."

She fell silent again. Louk waited for what he deemed was an appropriate pause before continuing. Hiding his smile, he cleared his throat and took a sip of wine. The woman did not touch alcohol, nor did she eat any sweet foods. He had ordered Jaycel to fetch more fresh vegetables from the market for her when he realized that. As far as he knew, there were no dietary restrictions for remembrancers. Perhaps it was a personal conviction.

"Where did I leave off?"

"You were in the jail" Seeker pressed. "Heading into the basement for the Eldar woman."

"I never said she was there" he teased. He imagined her lips pursed in a frown and her eyes glaring daggers at him. "But yes, she was. Though she was not the only one in that basement."

**In the mountain**

The door exploded inwards, propelled by the fury of his kick. Lascarbine leading in like a cavalryman's lance, Shannegh threw himself into the room and pivoted towards the voice's origin point. His finger fluttered on the trigger, spewing daggers of soft green light across the room he sighted down on the Eldar creature before him. Through the muzzle flash he recognized deathly pale skin, glossy black hair held in a topknot, scaly armor the color of a moonless night, and a Throne-damned whip curling lazily in the air over its head. The look of surprise on the xenos's face was well worth the pain the sound of its whip had inflicted.

"Die you fecking bastard" Shannegh roared, charging towards the xenos with uncharacteristic boldness. It was something he would never have considered were it not for the overwhelming fury boiling through his blood at the sight of the whip. He hated, hated, _hated_ slavers. And any man with a whip deserved to die.

Unfortunately, this xenos did not seem keen to comply. Shannegh's first few shots cut across its side, barely missing it as the Eldar jerked away from the deadly bolts. Before Shannegh had a chance to correct his aim the Eldar bent over backwards and, in a maneuver that he could only register as impossible, flipped on its hands through Shannegh's barrage to go soaring into cover behind a large stack of crates. His lasfire scored deeply on the protective boxes, punching holes and sending wood flying as he continued to fire. It came to him in the back of his mind that it would go badly for him if he tried to close in and so, adjusting on the fly, he started moving to his left, circling the crates even as he continued to pick away at the Eldar's cover.

As he circled he placed the centerpiece of the room between them. It was an elevated table, like the kind that could be found in a morgue. A ragged and bloodstained body lay on the table, flesh torn in so many places that its skin may as well have been crimson-colored. He did not spare even a glance at the figure. That could come later. The most pressing matter was the fact that he was going to run out of ammo before the Eldar ran out of boxes.

The instant his power pack emptied Shannegh was swapping in a new one, but the xenos was faster. Bursting out of its cover so quickly that it appeared a blur, the xenos hurtled the table and dove for Shannegh. Fumbling with the power pack, he tried to leap away but wasn't fast enough. They went tumbling on the ground, lascarbine spinning in one direction, whip in the other. A hooked knife tore into his side, ripping free so quickly that he couldn't even find the breath to gasp in pain as the xenos warrior grappled with him. Throwing an elbow into the Eldar's face, Shannegh cleared the space between them with a satisfying crunch of xenos cartilage. The Eldar howled in pain but did not fall away. Its legs wrapped firmly around Shannegh's side, pressing together with a crushing grip that blasted the air from his lungs.

Fighting desperately to keep the blood-soaked knife at bay, Shannegh groped blindly for his pants leg and the _kopis_ tucked in his boot. Finding the hem, he ripped at his pants to try and get to the blade. His effort distracted him and nearly cost him his life. The Eldar wrenched his defending arm aside and plunged its dagger into his chest. He felt a rib crack, and the blade pierced his lungs. Unable to breathe, unable to think, he acted on the first instinct that reared in his mind.

His free hand clamped down on the Eldar's wrist, pinning the blade inside his chest. If it was ripped free it would surely kill him. He pushed off the ground with both of his feet, thrusting his hips into the air in an effort to unbalance the xenos. It worked, somewhat, but the Eldar's reaction was to clamp down tighter around his waist. The pressure would have made him groan as his organs were smashed together, except that he couldn't breathe anyways. What caught his attention though was the Eldar's pinned wrist. Descending on the exposed forearm, Shannegh sank his teeth into the xenos's flesh. He bit until his teeth hit bone, and then he yanked his head from side to side, tearing at the skin. Too-sweet blood filled his mouth, threatening to gag him, but he wasn't going to be stopped. The Eldar screamed at him and started bashing his head with its other hand. Stars exploded in his eyes.

His fingers found the grip of his _kopis_. Tearing the sword free, he thumbed the activation button and stabbed the Eldar in the side. The xenos warior jerked stiff as a surge of energy burned through its body, overloading its nerves and rendering it catatonic. It shuddered once before collapsing limply on the floor beside him.

Shannegh lay on the floor, gasping for much needed air. Some part of him had the sense of mind to draw his autopistol and blast the Eldar in the face. The xenos warrior's body skidded away as the light caliber rounds tore into its skull. He fired until he could see brain matter and bone. Only when nothing remained of the hideous creature's leering smile did he ease off the trigger. The pistol clicked uselessly, empty. But it was done. The xenos was dead.

"Serves… you… right," Shannegh panted. He groaned loudly and closed his eyes, trying to account for the various sources of agonizing pain throughout his body. When he coughed blood sprayed into the air to fall splashing down on his face. Oh Throne, he did not feel good. He fished about for a stimm shot and juiced, not caring that his last dose had been less than a day before. The sweet adrenaline rush only helped so much. He put a hand on his side and felt the organs trying to squeeze out. "Sonuvabitch."

A nearly inaudible groan came from the raised table. Gazing at the blocky construction, he realized that there were several little hand-push trolleys gathered around the table. There had to be some kind of medicine there. Something to help stem the tide of blood oozing from his side.

He pulled himself to his knees, careful to not jerk the knife blade still lodged in his chest, and dragged himself up against the table. As his head rose over the lip he caught his first real look at the tortured body that had been subjected to the whipping.

She was stunning. Her face was delicate and youthful, slashed open in a dozen places by the whip's bite. Fiery red hair, shorn roughly with a knife to a shoulder length, was matted together with crimson glue. The bloodstained white robes covering her had been ripped and rent all across her body, revealing lily-white skin blemished by horrific gouges. Heavy leather bindings pinned her arms and legs in place, but even so her captors had taken the liberty of snapping her forearms so thoroughly he could see where the bones were separated under her tortured skin. A glittering black collar covered her throat, a single display-like panel flashing white. Every part of her was damaged, broken, shattered. But he could see beneath the horror, through the blood and the carnage that had been wrought on her defenseless body. And he couldn't think of a more beautiful woman he had ever seen. Like an Angel of the Emperor, captured and tortured by the wicked but still awesome in her loveliness.

Swollen lips parted slightly as the woman breathed in. Her chest hardly rose with the effort, and when she exhaled the noise sounded pained and dry. Blood crusted around her eyelids, closed for so long that her life fluids had congealed and hardened to seal them shut. She looked so pitifully helpless that Shannegh's heart nearly stopped in his chest. He almost forgot about his own wounds in the face of such wanton destruction on so fragile a body.

"One… problem at a… time" he grumbled. Checking the trolleys, he discovered a suture set and plenty of unused bandages. It was going to hurt like hell, but he had to patch himself up. He bit down on the grip of his combat knife as he cleaned out his side wounds as best he could. If his gagged screams woke the prisoner, she lacked the energy to let him know. When he finished wrapping his wounds he looked around the room for anything else that could help.

One of the corners held what appeared to be a horde of medical supplies, their crates dusty from disuse. Had he the time he would have searched them, but Getta upstairs had the advantage of not having a damn knife stuck in her chest. He looked back at the Eldar woman on the table, debating what to do with her. She was alive still, and though badly hurt she did not appear in danger of passing away any time soon. But her situation was critical nonetheless. Or so he assumed. He really didn't know how durable these xenos were. The dead one on the floor certainly seemed tough as iron.

Gazing at her face, he took several shallow breaths and reached for the first restraint. It came apart easily when he undid the buckle. Moving slowly around the table, he undid them all. She did not move the entire time. Either she slept or she simply did not have the strength to do anything. He did not want to leave her down here. Getta would be the only one of them up for moving around, and he did not want her out of his sight. But this woman needed help badly.

"Feck it" he grumbled. Choking down the pain, he slipped his arms under the woman's frail body and lifted her off the table. Spasms of pain tore across her face as her shattered arms shifted. He scooped them over to rest against her waist before turning to the stairs. It took him several minutes to climb them; he had to stop and catch his breath twice and he nearly stumbled several times. Throughout it all his precious cargo moaned pitifully against his shoulder. The sounds she made were inhuman, like a dog's keening whine after its mate died. It was a very different noise than what the ones up above had made.

Shoving the door open with a shoulder, Shannegh stumbled into the cell room to find Getta still buried in the logbook. The Eldar in their cells leapt up at the sight of their comrade and burst into outraged or terrified cries, he couldn't tell which. Startled, Getta snatched up her laspistol and turned towards him.

"Oh Throne" she cursed, eyes widening in horror at the bloodsoaked figures as he stumbled against the doorframe.

"Help" Shannegh muttered, fighting to stay on his feet. The Scintillan rushed to his side, adding her strength to his as he shuffled towards a spare table. He could hear the Eldar shouting and banging on the cell bars, but his vision was swimming and it all sounded underwater to him. Together they eased the woman down onto the table and he stumbled into a chair. The blade in his chest wrenched with the forcefulness of his fall, causing him to groan in pain. "Get… downstairs, back right corner. Medical… supplies. Bring it all."

She swallowed nervously and rushed down the stairs. Unable to bring himself to stand again, Shannegh remained in his seat and wheezed. His hands rested uneasily on his knees, painfully aware of the fact that the Eldar had quieted down and were giving him intense looks. Angry Eyes had murder written clear on her face. This was not at all turning out how he had planned it.

…

Bone-splitting pain woke him. Shannegh cried out as Getta eased the knife out of his chest. She had three fingers lodged in his wound, holding his ribs and skin apart so she could get the hooked edge out without killing him. Her fingernail scraped the inside of his lungs and he nearly passed back out again. A thoughtfully placed strip of tough fabric kept his teeth from gnashing together, and restraints on his arms and legs kept him still. Getta's face had a sickly shade to it as she worked the knife free.

"I'm sorry" she murmured, "But I need to get this out of you."

Helpless to do anything but writhe in agony, he screamed into the gag until she worked the Eldar blade free and set it on the chair beside him. In its place she sprayed a thick coating of biofoam that filled his insides with a dull feathery sensation. He knew better than to fidget with it, so he waited as calmly as he could while she worked the bandages off his side, tore the sutures free, and repeated the process on his side wounds. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks and he blacked out at one point, but she eventually finished up and reapplied the bandages.

"I brought your weapons up" she told him, pointing to the wall near the side room. Louk looked over, wincing as even that motion caused his chest to twinge. Throne, he wouldn't be able to get around for a while. He had gotten them into one hell of a pickle.

"How's she" he asked, gesturing weakly to the Eldar woman. Getta shrugged indifferently.

"Hadn't looked at her yet. You were more of a priority."

He motioned for help. Getta lent her shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. Standing made his legs shake and he leaned on her for support as she walked him over to the table. When he reached it he braced himself with his hands and studied the woman.

Her captors had worked her over so thoroughly he marveled that she was still alive. Though none of her injuries appeared more serious than the broken arms, she must have lost a lot of blood. And there were wounds everywhere. He pressed a hip against the table and lifted his hand. The Scintillan looked on with a frown as he gently brushed loose strands of the woman's hair from her face. He stared for a long minute before he could muster his voice.

"Water, and some kind of rag" he said. His companion nodded and went back downstairs. With little else to do in the meantime, he leaned closer over the woman and held a finger over her lips. He could feel the faint flow of air across his skin as she breathed. But it was not strong enough for his liking. Looking over to Angry Eyes, he found her standing at the bars, her hands clamped tightly on the crossbar as she gazed at the woman. Her anger had melted away into heart-wrenching concern. "Hey! What do we need to know about her?"

Angry Eyes gazed up from the woman just long enough to glare at Shannegh. She tapped the gem at her breast and pointed to the woman. Not understanding, Shannegh held out a hand. The Eldar growled at him and repeated the gesture, turning this time to encompass her comrades. They all had a necklace like that. All of them except for the wounded one.

What was in that gem, he wondered. Was it some kind of Eldar sorcery? He didn't think so, because if those gems had power the Eldar would not be trapped in such a simple jail cell. But it must have been important, so he made a note to ask Getta about it when she returned.

The woman stirred fitfully on the table. A soft moan crept out of her mouth and her body began to convulse. Shannegh held her down, wincing with empathetic pain as the pressure of his hand on her chest irritated her wounds. The writhing subsided after a minute and the woman went still as the grave. He cursed and felt for her breath again. It was there, just as faint as before. Before he could form an opinion Getta came back with a bucket full of lukewarm water and a few hand towels she had collected from the basement. She set the bucket on a chair between them and handed him one of the towels.

Wringing the towel to clear the excess water, he began to carefully wipe the grime and blood from her face. Working on her wounds wasn't an option until they cleaned her off. He couldn't even tell the extent of her injuries under all the blood. The sacrilege to her flesh was horrific.

He felt unworthy as he cleaned her skin. Her lips were cracked and dry, but still smooth as satin to the touch. There was something… almost holy about her body that made him hesitate from pressing down on her. He worried that the simple cloth would scratch her skin, ruin its velvety softness. His eyes crept across the bared flesh of her neck as he worked, a tightness working its way through his throat at how frail and vulnerable she was. Somewhere in the back of his mind, in that quiet corner of conscience that he liked to lock away and forget about, he hated the black-armored Eldar warrior with a passion that bordered on mindless fury. He wished he could bring the warrior back from the dead just to tear him apart again. A single death was too good for that heathenous monster.

When he wiped her eyelids they slowly drew open. They were the lightest, deepest blue he had ever seen. Heavily dilated pupils gazed up at him, wavering with exhausted determination. Her mouth opened in a cry of defiance, but no sound emerged. Confusion struggled across her features. His touch was gentle, not like the beast that had been torturing her. The cloth swept across her brow, wiping the sweat and grime away. Her eyes remained locked on his face for several seconds, brows furrowing as she tried to understand. Louk could imagine the questions racing through her mind. He felt compelled to speak to her, to reassure her everything would be alright. That she was safe now.

"Shh…" was what came out of his lungs. He placed a finger over her mouth. "You need to remain still so we can fix you up."

Those sharp blue eyes stared up at him. Louk returned her gaze for only a moment. It was all he could bear. The echoes of agony filled her liquid orbs with horror that she could not suppress. He could have sworn he saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and that nearly ripped his heart from his chest. He couldn't understand his reaction; he had seen plenty of people suffer and die in horrible ways. This xenos woman's suffering should not have drawn a twitch of his eye.

"Ahem!"

He looked up sharply to find Getta giving him an odd look. Glancing back down at the woman, he realized he had been caressing her forehead with the cloth for the past minute or so.

"Let's hurry up and get her cleaned" Getta grumbled. "You can admire her later."

"I wasn't admiring" Louk growled, but he had to fight to tear his eyes away from her own. Finishing her face, he began to peel back the bloodied robe to get a better look at her chest and arms. Getta had already stripped the woman below the waist, pushing the skirt of her robe off the table and exposing her pale and battered legs. Louk swallowed hard and returned his attention to her chest. That wasn't much better for his comfort, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks as he wiped the blood from her throat and breasts. The woman on the table was hardly the first naked woman he had seen. Throne knew how many he had bedded over the years: older ones, younger ones, slaves, merchants, augmented ones… He had long ago lost his sense of embarrassment at seeing a woman's intimacy. But this one rankled his nerves. The sight of her exposure made his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth, made the blood pound in his head. He couldn't understand it for the life of him. She was not a particularly well-endowed woman, her figure was very slim and not at all impressive when compared to a woman like Getta. But her flesh was purer than marble, softer than a silk scarf, and stronger than steel.

He cleaned her as quickly and gently as he could. Her eyes followed him accusingly nonetheless, disgust growing across her face with each passing second. The Eldar in the cells did not like they way he was handling her either, and Angry Eyes in particular was growling at him. She gnashed her teeth at him and spat out a constant stream of what had to be curses. He thought he understood a little of it, especially that part where she was calling him a 'monkey.'

"I am sorry" he told her as he moved to her arm. She seemed to understand, because her glittering blue eyes closed and her lips pressed together. Easing her broken arm off the table, he treated it with the same care of a combat medicae drawing shrapnel from a man's heart. A single misplaced breath would cause intense pain. He managed to clear off the skin around the break with only a single whimper from her lips. Even that was choked down, more of a groan than a cry. Tears streaked down the Eldar woman's face. But she remained silent while Getta finished cleaning the rest of her. Louk allowed her to take care of the woman's… other areas. He had to step away and sit down to catch his breath. And calm the rapid hammering of his heart.

"Can you handle the rest of it" he asked the Scintillan.

"Scared of a bit of blood" she grumbled.

"Yeah, something like that" he muttered back. Collapsing into his chair, Shannegh reached around to check his side. It had been numbed by a morphine shot, but he still took care in feeling the damage. The Eldar's knife had gutted nearly his entire side below the ribs. He had a feeling he would be using up his stimm shots before they got out of here.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on slowing his breathing and willing away the harsh drumbeat in his chest. He tried to not picture those dazzling blue eyes, or the inviting curve of her lips as she breathed. He tried to remember the hundreds of sermons Helsing had forced them to sit through. Sermons of the Emperor's glory, the wretchedness of the xenos, the temptations of heresy. He was a man, and mankind was his to serve. The alien were good only for killing and exploiting.

Or so he was told. His years in the understreets of Carrigan Hive had taught him that no matter how vile, how cruel, how awful were the xenos, mankind was infinitely crueler. The things men did to one another could not be qualified. They were hideous, unforgivable, unmentionable. He himself had done atrocious things in the Emperor's name. All for the glory of the Golden Throne.

He had never been a religious man. The only times he prayed were when the bullets were flying or he thought he was dying. Even then, he held little respect for the concept of a kindly, overseeing father-figure of mankind. If the God-Emperor truly was what his name suggested, he was a heartless and miserly bastard. And that was fine with Shannegh. Only a god like that could look at the sins of mankind and continue to keep charge over them. A more good god would have destroyed them out of horror by now.

His doubts about the xenos had always been strong, however. It didn't matter what he heard in the sermons of raving priests who had never even seen a real xenos before, much less engaged them in any manner. But they had fought many xenos in the past, and the one thing that unified them was their viciousness in battle. It didn't matter whether it was an Ork or a Hrud, they all wanted him dead.

Surely these Eldar wanted him dead. Angry Eyes would have killed him a dozen times over if he let her out of the cell. The black-armored ones were clearly powerful warriors, he would have been killed were it not for the _kopis_. In battle there was little to be said about their urges.

Admittedly, he had never seen a xenos at peace. This was the closest he had come, with some in cells and another lying on a table being operated on. The concern on the Eldars' faces for their comrade could not be mistaken. They cared. They had hearts.

Is that what he was just realizing? That there was more to these xenos than their witchcraft and their sneakiness? He opened his eyes and watched Getta dunk her rag in the bucket. The water was red now, saturated in the Eldar's blood. The Scintillan handled her with exquisite care, moving quickly but with the grace of a falling snowflake. If anyone in this room had a light touch, it would be her. She finished cleaning the woman off and set about applying biofoam and other ointments to her wounds.

"Fine mess you've gotten us into" Getta said. Her voice trembled a little, betraying her fear. "Now we're stuck in a jail with a bunch of xenos that will probably try to kill us, with another dead xenos whose buddies are probably going to come looking for him, and you're no longer fit to fight. We are imperially fucked."

"It's a temporary setback," he promised. She shot him a withering glare. A thick coat of blood covered her hands and wrists, his and the Eldar's. He wondered how much of it had been inside his body earlier that day.

"You and I have very different definitions of 'temporary setbacks.' Mine doesn't involve getting put in a giant steel deathtrap."

"Think of it this way" he said. "If things get hot, we lock this place down and the whole damn planet's artillery couldn't break in to get us. Then we just sit tight and wait for the Guard to show up."

"That's actually a decent plan" she admitted. "Any chance you can help me with this?"

"A little chance" he said, pushing himself back to his feet. His breathing was steadier now. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hold her down. This is going to hurt her like hell." She motioned to the woman's arms. "I'm going to try and splint these. Her other wounds are superficial."

"I can do that." Louk placed his hands on the woman's body, uncomfortable aware of how his calloused hands felt so out of place on her delicate body. He forced himself to look at her face so his eyes would not wander. "Ready when you are."

Getta took a deep breath. "Okay, now."

She lifted the Eldar woman's arm off the table and shoved a wooden board she had stripped off one of the crates under the break. The Eldar woman gave a voiceless scream, eyes snapping wide open as the shock coursed through her body. She was much stronger than he had thought, and he had to nearly lay across her to keep her still. Her reaction startled him; it was much stronger than he would have thought. Her eyes darted about but didn't seem to land on any one thing. They passed right over him as if he didn't exist. Inhuman ghoulish noises screeched out of her mouth. It sounded nothing like what Angry Eyes jabbered. It almost sounded like she was a mute. Curiosity managed to best him and he craned his head to look.

"Feck me" he murmured. Getta shot him a questioning look, hands still wrapping the splint tight to her arm. "She's got no tongue."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, daring to take his hand off of her collarbone and part her lips. "They cut her fecking tongue out! Who does that?"

"Other Eldar, apparently." Getta grimaced and jerked the bandages, making them as tight as she could. The Eldar woman made the equivalent of a scream and bit down reflexively. Her teeth caught his fingers, crushing them between her jaws. Cursing loudly, he resisted the urge to yank his hand free and waited for her to let go. The woman continued her silent scream for another few seconds before her body went limp. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth parted.

"Oh sweet mother" Louk grunted. He tucked his hands under his armpit. "Damn that hurt."

"Aw, did the little space elf bite?" Getta snickered and motioned for them to switch places. "Next time don't stick your fingers in her mouth."

"Noted" he said dryly. Easing his way around the table, he repositioned himself and waited for her to start on the other arm. This new spot had him facing the cells, and he found himself looking at Angry Eyes again. The woman had sat back down and was glaring at him still. He wondered how much of their speech she understood. "What was that you said about a space elf?"

"Huh?" She busied herself with setting out the materials for the other arm. "Oh, that's just a name Farragut uses for the Eldar. He has a bit of an obsession with them, though you can't repeat that anywhere. Sometimes when he talks about them he gets that far-off look… you know the one."

"Wishes he could be among them?"

"Eh, I wouldn't say that. I'd say he would kill to have some time with one. To get to know more about them and how they tick. Especially those webway portals of theirs. That's one huge advantage they have over us."

Louk swallowed and applied pressure to the Eldar's stomach and shoulders. Nodding in satisfaction, Getta reached for her arm.

"Some would call that heresy."

"And some would call what we are … urh… doing right now, heresy." Getta picked up the arm and went straight to work. They had no resistance this time. The Eldar woman did not wake up. Working quickly, she wrapped the arm and tied the bandage. "And you don't strike me as the kind of man to walk on the right side of the line."

"Lines are meant to be crossed" he said. Stepping away from the woman, he spent a second admiring Getta's handiwork. It was a makeshift thing, but she had done it well and the bones would be salvageable. How long had they been broken? He shivered when he realized he was staring, and quickly returned to his chair. "What about the name 'space elf' though?"

"One day when we were on downtime a group of us went to go see a war film. It was supposed to be a documentary about the campaign in the system next over, but it was really more of a propaganda film. Entertaining, but completely ludicrous. The evil 'Eldar' were so comically caricatured that Tarro was reminded of this old wives tale he had heard growing up about these creatures called 'elves' that came out at night and snatched naughty children away. The name stuck."

"Space elf, huh?" He nodded towards Angry Eyes. "I like it. What do you think?"

"_Monkeigh_" she hissed, venom dripping from her tongue.

"Looks like nicknames all around" he joked. "We call 'em Space Elves, they call us Monkeys. We're going to get along just great."

"I think that's their word for humans" Getta told him. She had started applying bandages to the multitude of cuts on the woman's body. There was something… motherly about the way she handled the Eldar woman. Louk's gaze wandered from her hands to the wounds and back. That woman had incredible dexterity with her fingers. She could bend and shape the gauze so that it fell perfectly on the wounds.

"They can call us monkeys all they want." He grinned, but thought better about laughing. Angry Eyes' ears had perked just slightly as they had been speaking. The furious intelligence glittering there warned him she knew exactly what they were saying. Understanding, but playing dumb. "I must say I'm curious to know how this whole thing went down. Command was certain that the Eldar were in charge at the outset, right?"

"They were, yes." The Scintillan had finished with the bandaging and begun rubbing a bronze-colored ointment onto her skin. The oil left a shimmery layer in its wake, causing the Eldar woman's skin to gleam in the soft light of the cell room. His eyes traveled along her skin on their own accord, drinking in the lithe musculature of her body. He couldn't bring himself to look away. "Though I believe it is safe to say we can take none of our intelligence for granted anymore. Throne knows we've had nothing but surprises since coming through the lines."

"I'm beginning to regret taking my boss up on this job" Louk muttered. He rested his hands on his lap and leaned back in the chair. "I'm going to rest up for a bit, if you don't mind. Getting stabbed multiple times has left me a bit… drained."

He didn't really care whether she was agreeable to the idea or not. Louk drifted off to sleep in moments. It was a skill he had picked up long ago, back in the days where sleep was hard to come by. If anything happened, he trusted his own instincts would wake him up. Helsing said he was like a cat that way: he could pass out hard in seconds but wake at the drop of a pin. He rarely slept well, especially on loud ships like those Helsing loved to travel in.

Getta let him sleep for several hours. When she did finally wake him he took stock of their situation with refreshed eyes. She had been busy, he noted with approval. The bodies from the entry room had been dragged back and thrown into the basement. She had found cleaner and scrubbed most of the blood from the entry room, as well as reset everything to hide what could not be erased. Three crates of provisions had been brought up and were laid out on a table, ready to be opened and passed out. Basic field ration packs, but probably better than what the men were eating out there in the city. Throne only knew how they hadn't ransacked this place for the supplies. Not that he could complain.

"The armory has been mostly stripped" she told him. "But I did find several grenades and a few spare shells for that shotgun out front."

"Better than nothing" Louk told her. He ordered her to get some sleep and set about checking the area for himself. She had been thoughtful enough to fashion him a cane out of crate boards. It was rough and not very sturdy, but he appreciated the help. Surveying the food, he realized that Getta hadn't brought any platters or cups out. The Eldar could eat the food out of the packs, but they had no way of sharing water. For that matter, where was the water?

He guessed it was about time to eat. The Eldar continued to sit stoically in their cells, though a couple eyed the food crates with more than passing interest. It would be too much for him to drag the whole crate over. He doubted his body could handle that right now. So he snagged a handful and walked over to Angry Eyes. Unless someone else stepped up, he was going to assume she was their leader.

"You guys eat?" He offered one of the ration packs. Her eyes flicked lazily from the package to his face. Something akin to a grimace crept across her features but she took the package. Handing it to the next Eldar in the cell, she turned back and nodded. Louk passed them all over before going back for more. The Eldar passed out the food in silence, none of them speaking. They waited until everyone had a pack, and then on unspoken command, opened their packs and began to eat. He looked on in wonder, his own hunger forgotten as they nibbled at the biscuits, spooned out the gruel that was supposed to be meatballs or soup or whatever the package labeling claimed. None of them touched the jellies, or the sugar packets, or the ground recaf leaves. They ate just the basics, and returned everything to the packages when they had finished. Angry Eyes collected the packages back and held them out for Louk to take.

"Creepy" he muttered under his breath. The Eldar had all turned and were watching him intently, though they lacked some of the hostility they had shown earlier. Even Angry Eyes seemed less than furious at him. She tipped her head back and made a drinking motion.

"Of course, water. Give me a minute." He searched the room for ideas. There were no large water containers out, nor stacks of cups or mugs. Searching the side room, he found a recaf machine and several old bags of leaves. It would not be great, but it was better than nothing. It was light too, so he carried it back into the main room.

But he still needed water. Getta had found water down in the basement somewhere. He excused himself, realizing afterwards that he hadn't needed to, and took the stairs. They were slick now thanks to spilled water and blood from the dead. Easing his way down, he took one step at a time and held onto the cane to steady himself. He was already breathing hard, lungs burning. This new infirmity bothered him. He did not like the feeling of being physically incapable. It made him feel trapped. Then again, he did have at least one collapsed lung now. Maybe this was how it would be until he got it fixed.

A black-armored body sat against the table, staring at him. He didn't even notice it at first as he strode in, eyes already searching the walls for water. When his gaze landed on it he started in surprise at seeing the xenos creature had moved. The autopistol appeared in his hands and he fired instinctively. The weapon clicked, empty still.

"Oh feck, oh feck" he gasped, chest heaving for breath. His heart was pounding, even more so when it dawned on him that the warrior had not moved on its own accord. A blanket had been draped over its head, and blood coated its gut and thighs. Dead. The xenos was still dead. Getta must have moved it for Throne only knew what reason.

He sat down hard, fighting to calm the rushing in his veins. That kind of scare made his legs weak. And he knew he needed to slow his blood flow. The faster it flowed, the sooner the pain would come back. He knew the dangers of overdosing too well, and he did not want to take three stimm shots this close together. Desperate for something calming, he focused on his autopistol. He had forgotten to reload after fighting the xenos warrior. Stupid move. Ejecting the magazine, he slid it into place beside the others on his belt and drew his third magazine. Two more after that one. He had another five packs for his lascarbine too, so he would be okay until the Guard go there.

If the Guard was going to reach them. After seeing the intricate defenses that had yet to be assaulted, he had serious doubts about their relief plan. It might take another month's worth of fighting to break into the city. He doubted that they would last more than a week even in here. A team with the right tools could break into here given enough time. He was sure they had the equipment somewhere to ferret them out. A mining laser could probably tear right through the doors, he thought belatedly. Oh shit, they were in more trouble than he had first assumed.

Why couldn't he have just stayed away from the building?

When he felt comfortable standing he pushed himself to his feet and searched the room. There were several large water containers here, all but one full. He found a few clean jerry cans to fill up and put water in two of them. In his current state he couldn't lift them at full weight, so he only filled them halfway. Even that still tested his endurance as he lugged them upstairs and over to the cells.

"Best I can do." He slid them through the cell bars. Angry Eyes gazed at the container with discontent written on her features, but she took it and unscrewed the lid. The disappointment faded when she stuck a slim hand inside and brought it back to lick her finger. The water agreed with her and she motioned for the others to go ahead. Louk did not take the containers back.

Once the Eldar were taken care of he looked to the woman on the table. She needed to eat too. He didn't know what they were supposed to look like, body-wise, but she was rail thin and he could count her ribs. Going back to the foodstuff crate, he searched for a package that had something soft.

"Is she going to swallow if I put this in her mouth" he asked Angry Eyes, holding up one of the packages. The question sounded foolish out loud, but he didn't know how they worked. The Eldar woman gave a curt nod. That satisfied him, and he set about spoon feeding the paste-like substance into her mouth. Her lips closed around the spoon and her throat bobbed. One eye flickered open halfway. She regarded him for a long moment before closing her eye again.

His hand trembled, and not just because of his numerous wounds. The spoon wavered and he had to be careful about guiding it so it didn't drip all over her face. She ate quietly, without any real response to speak of. The only indication he had of her approval was that the spoon came out clean every time. After a minute or two he set the food down and drew his canteen. The Eldar woman guzzled down half of it without pausing for breath. He wiped her face clean with a hand towel when she had her fill. He looked back to her ribs, still amazed by how skinny she was. Like a starvation victim. He reached out hesitantly and touched her stomach. Her skin slid loosely over her bones. She had lost significant weight.

It was right then that he realized she was still, for all intents and purposes, nude. Swallowing nervously, he picked at the edge of her robe and lifted it to cover her. He couldn't think of what to do next, so he went to his chair and sat down. Louk scooped up his lascarbine and laid it across his lap. No one would give them trouble for now. It was a good opportunity to rest. He just had to keep his eyes open until Getta woke back up.


	6. A Chest And A Collar

**In the Cell Block**

He woke to find Getta standing over him. She held her laspistol loosely in one hand, the other resting on his shoulder.

"Louk, I need you to wake up now."

His insides burned, as if molten lava filled his veins. A soft sucking breath pressed out against his ribs, turning the stale sigh of air into a pained hiss. He groaned and clutched his side. It would be a while before he was running anywhere.

"What is it, Getta?"

"One of us needs to be awake at all times" she told him. Irritation showed on her face. "Don't do that again."

"Couldn't really help it" he muttered. Sliding forward, he used her hand to pull himself to his feet and looked over at the cell. Half of the Eldar appeared to be sleeping, or meditating. The ones in the black suits remained awake to hold vigil over their fellow xenos. Angry Eyes did not appear to have moved from her seat closest to the bars.

"Then wake me up next time. If your injuries are too great, I don't mind." The harshness faded from the Scintillan's tone and she let her hand drop to clutch his arm. Her eyes shone earnestly. "We need our full wits about us to make it through this mess. Can you promise me that?"

"Yeah."

His body felt rested enough, considering the circumstances, that he did not bother trying to go back to sleep. The first thing on his mind was to check on the tortured Eldar woman. As he shuffled over to the table Getta assured him that there were no changes in her status. She had not moved and her condition remained more or less stable. Neither having any familiarity with Eldar biology, all they could do was wait and see how their medicines affected the woman.

"Would have been nice if we had a spare E-kit" Getta muttered. She stood at the edge of the table beside the woman's head, gaze resting on the closed eyes and slightly parted lips, studying the woman's breathing. Louk absently reached down towards the pouch where he kept his kits. Of course, he had tossed his to the Tenean medicae back down the mountain. Stupid fecking lack of foresight. Next time he went on a mission he was going to track down a diviner and force the psychic to take his augury. This mission had turned out to be nothing but misstep after misstep.

"Yeah, that would have been nice" he said with a little laugh. When she gave him a cross look he shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm going to go over to the front room for a while, see if there is anything more useful out there."

"Be my guest. Just give a shout if you think you are going to pass out again."

"Will try" he replied, forcing a weak grin. Leaving the cell room behind, he made his way to the desk at the front room and sat down in the padded leather chair. It creaked softly as he settled his weight onto the leather, complaining at the unwanted weight. Closing his eyes for a moment, he willed his body to relax and he stretched his senses to see what he could feel. Faint traces of bleach and antiseptic salts tickled his nostrils from the cleaner Getta had used to hide the effects of his entry. A gentle current of stale, recycled air wafted down from vents in the ceiling. Another thing he needed to check for, whether this building had an isolated air system or whether it was open to the outside. If so, he needed to find a way to seal it up. The side room cogitators might have a control system for that.

Shifting his eyes open, he turned the chair around and scanned the room. Subtle scratches on the wall behind the desk marked where his bullets had punched through the luckless guards, but aside from the missing paint it was not noticeable. Several other spots on the walls showed similar chips in the paint. Only a close inspection could reveal the source of the paint's chipping. Besides that, the room appeared entirely in the ordinary. Nothing to alert a newcomer to the fact that something exciting had happened. Getta knew how to make a mess go away.

That wasn't the only reason for him being in here though. Checking the desk drawers, he searched for things that Getta might not have found. It appeared she had not bothered going through the drawers yet. It made sense. They had enough others things going on the make this a low priority. What were the odds they could find anything useful as it was?

Apparently Throne-fecking high.

"Hot damn" he murmured, eyes widening as his eyes registered what he was looking at in the first drawer. An old-fashioned metal key-ring with three keys on it. He studied them for a moment and grinned wickedly. One of those had to be for the cells. The other two though, what were they for? He lifted the key-ring and slipped it onto his belt, carefully undoing and then redoing his buckle once he had the ring securely in place. The keys jingled a little, but noise discipline was no longer a prime concern of his.

Moving on to the drawer below, this one three times as tall as the other, he ran his hands across the lip and realized it was locked. Cursing his own lack of patience, he drew the key ring back off his belt and checked the individual keys. The second one fit, and he unlocked the drawer with a satisfyingly solid _click-click_.

The first thing he noticed was the heavy wooden chest nestled in the midst of balled-up paper sheafs. It was stained dark with steel reinforcement around the edges and corners. Then he saw that the walls of the drawer were reinforced. This was a security drawer, the kind that would have taken an expert thief to break into without damaging the goods inside. Curiosity flooded his senses and he eased the chest out and lifted it onto the table. The only reason it did not stagger him with its weight was that the builder had been thoughtful enough to install a light anti-grav repulsor on the bottom of the chest. It moved like it weighed nothing. Louk appreciated the man's artistry for that.

"And here we are" he muttered to himself, studying the intricate script that flowed across the front. He couldn't read it, but the letters looked familiar. Some archaic twist of High Gothic, maybe? He tried the three keys to the lock, but none fit. A grumble about the unfairness of life burst from his mouth. There had to be another way into the chest.

Standing with the same steady care as an elderly man, Louk crept to the doorway and looked back to make sure the Eldar had not broken free while he was away. They were still there, still sitting quietly in their cells. Angry Eyes wasn't looking at him for once. She sat in a meditative pose, eyes closed with her hands resting on her knees. Wasn't that bad a looker when she wasn't foaming at the mouth. Her features were pleasant, if a little more angular than he preferred, and she had a strong feminine posture that was hard to find outside of some very specific fields of Imperial citizenry. Namely, the ones where the women were off-limits by decree of the Church itself.

His eyes snapped back to the chest and he asked himself why they had been allowed to keep those stones around their necks. Those must have some value to them; he wagered one of those pretty gems could fetch a kingly price.

Not that it really mattered. He could worry about all that when the Imperials were marching through the streets. Right now his curiosity centered on the chest on the desk. Returning to it, he eyeballed the hinges on the back of the chest and ran some primitive calculations through his head. There were always two parts to a sealed container, door, whatever. The lock was the part everyone paid attention to. It was obvious, shiny sometimes, and had so many popular references that most people never bothered to consider another way in. Louk had learned the value of considering every angle. He drew the kopis blade and tapped the hinges on the back of the chest. They did not wiggle, but they did not resist as strongly as he thought they would. This was an old chest, and while the builder had seen to the lock well enough, his hinges were brass locked into a wooden frame. Tight, but vulnerable. He tested the edges and found that there was little support between the two. The right amount of pressure set at the right angle could pop them straight off.

He set to work with glee, digging the tip of the kopis into the microscopic gap between the left hinge and the wood. After a little effort the blade slipped in several centimeters. A grin cut across his face at the little victory. He worked it back and forth, cutting just enough into the corners of the wood to widen the gap. A few minutes of work later he had the hinge jiggling. That was all he could do for the moment, so he went to work on the second hinge. Same story there. When he had them both ready he returned to the cell room to appropriate Getta's knife. Angry Eyes was awake again, and her sharp eyes scoured his back with invisible daggers as he moved through the room.

The urge to go stand before her gnawed at him. He hated having a dangerous person like that so close. One part of his mind wanted to shoot her and be done with the creepy, unsettling feeling that her gaze put on him. If it hadn't been for the drugs Getta had given him he doubted he could have slept in the cell room, knowing that the Eldar warrior carried such intense hatred for him. He wondered what she would be like on the battlefield. Certainly, he assured himself, he did not want to find out.

He staggered back to the front room, eager to put some distance between them. His hands were shaking by the time he reached the desk, and he sat down hard to give himself a breather. Each breath brought an uncomfortable scratching sensation in this chest and throat. When this was all over he was going to make Inquisitor Helsing send him to one of those medical ships where he could get some heavy treatment. Who knew, maybe he'd get some cybernetic replacements. That would be fun, right?

"One thought at a time" he reminded himself with a gentle mutter. Using both blades at levers, he heaved against the hinges and they popped free of the wood. Getta's knife, a thin thing that was much more of a throat-tickler than a combat blade, lost its tip when the hinge jerked out and it slapped the edge of the metal desk. He held it up to inspect and shook his head. Probably wasn't that important anyway. Tucking it into his belt, he laid his kopis on the table and took the lid of the chest in both hands. A rush of blood pounded through his skull in time to the rushing images of what might be inside. Knowing his luck, probably some sort of communications log or maybe a sack of thrones. That'd be nice.

He eased it open, wary for traps. If there were any, they'd be pointing the wrong way, but backfire was always a possibility if poison or gas was involved. Nothing came hissing or launching out to greet him. It was good for him that the chest had no traps, because any thought of such dangers vanished when he caught a glimpse of what lay inside. Dozens of those shiny green gems lay piled inside, the same kind of gems the Eldar wore. He gasped softly and ran his hand through the gems, admiring the way they glowed in the harsh overhead light. Picking one at random, he lifted it and examined the stone's dimensions. They were larger than most jewelry rocks, and prettier to look at too. An emerald came to mind, but those paled in comparison to how clear and bright these Eldar gems were. The market value for those had to be astronomical.

The one in his hand was different from the others. The gems still in the chest glowed with an inner light. Something flickered and moved within, like there was some spirit inhabiting the gems. The one he held was dark and lifeless by comparison, like it was empty whereas the others were full. He wondered why it was different, but he knew nothing about these rocks. Maybe he could find a good jeweler to give him an idea when they returned to Iora. For now he had more important things to think about. The dull gem disappeared into his pocket, the chest was closed and laid back into the drawer. He could loot it in full later.

Louk rose to return to the cell room. Before he could make it to the hallway an ominous noise stopped him in his tracks. A meaty fist hammered on the outer door. He turned towards it in horror. No, no, no, this was not a good time. He cast a desperate glance back down the hall. Getta was still sleeping. His lascarbine was back in the side room. They weren't ready!

The pounding continued. Louk whispered a prayer to the God-Emperor and felt for his autopistol. He still had that, at least. And Getta had placed the shotgun beside the desk. He picked it up and moved towards the door. His heart was hammering in his chest, not because he was afraid, but because he had to fight off the dizziness that swept his body. His muscles screamed in protest at having to work this long so soon after his wounds. Choking it all down, he inched the door open a crack. His fear was that there would be an Eldar there, but to his relief it was merely a pair of apprehensive soldiers. They showed no surprise at his face, which meant they were not friendly with the previous set of guards and so there would be no problems there.

"You 'kay" one asked, his eyes drifting down to the bandages on Louk's shoulder. The charming lack of interest was noted and appreciated. He saw the tightening of their throats, the nervousness that flicked across their eyes.

"Now's really not a good time" Louk wheezed, playing up the dramatic effect of his wounds. He didn't have to try had to make it sound bad. "Boss is in a shit mood."

"Oh, well, uh…"

The men hesitated, clearly torn between their duty and their fear of the Eldar. Louk nodded along, slumping further against the wall to keep that fear rising.

"You coming to replace us?"

"What?" The men flinched as if accused of witchcraft. "No, we was just… um… stoppin' by. Thought we'd mebbe look at them pris'ners. Heard tell you got a witch in there."

Louk blinked slowly, fighting to suppress the shock of fear that tingled his spine. A witch? Was that what Angry Eyes was? He had assumed that the most powerful of the Eldar would have been killed when they were taken prisoner. If that wasn't the case, then what kind of hornet's nest was he sitting in?

"The witch" he replied, feigning indifference. "Yeah, think we've got one. But the boss is in with her right now. He's a bit…" Louk opened the door a hair more for them to see the full glory of the bandages covering his torso. "Angry. You don't want to interrupt him."

"Nah, that's right. Leave the Eldar to the Eldar. We'll… come back later mebbe." The man tipped his head and turned hurriedly away. Neither bothered to say goodbye. Louk watched them scurry off, making sure they weren't reporting to anyone, and then shut the door. It took all of his will to not sag to the floor. When he found the strength to breathe he shuddered. That had been impossibly easy. The men clearly feared these other Eldar, these _Druchii_. What was the difference between the two anyway? Different clan, different leader, different religion? Why did life have to be so complicated?

Getta was sleeping soundly in the cell room. Louk eased past her chair and looked at the lock on the cells. He looked through the key ring and held them up one at a time, inspecting each of the locks to see which appeared to be the right one. He held up the first one, comparing the keyhole to the shape of the key, and found Angry Eyes's ever-present glare resting on the other side. Big mistake, he realized. Letting her know that he had keys might have just caused a big future problem. They would have to be extra careful near the bars.

"Like you're going anywhere" he snapped, stuffing the keys into a pocket. As soon as he went out of sight he would place it somewhere else. Angry Eyes tracked the motion of his hand to his pocket, then eased back against the bars separating the two cells. The subtle tension in her arms slackened.

Trudging into the side room, he took stock of the provisions Getta had begun stocking. He recovered his lascarbine, preferring its support over the makeshift crutch she had fashioned for him. Two boxes of rations and three containers of water stood in the corner. A pile of blankets were there for bedding, and she had brought up a plethora of medical supplies. They would be good for a while if things remained as is. Hopefully those two men were relief guards and they would not hear from anyone again until the next shift change. How long were the shifts anyways?

He looked back into the cell room. There wasn't much else to do but wait.

**The Next Morning**

The Eldar woman had gone into a seizure just as they were changing shifts. Getta's foresight in bringing up the medical supplies probably saved her life. Within moments of the woman's convulsing she had rushed off to get a kit while Louk held the woman down. He got bit again for his troubles, which earned him a small amount of ribbing from the Scintillan. After the injection of whatever it was that Getta had, the Eldar slipped back into sleep.

He could tell that the other Eldar in the cells were going stir-crazy. Angry Eyes had dialed back on her usual furious glaring and instead gazed at them with an emotionless mask that made him more than a little nervous. The others were not so subtle. From time to time they would speak amongst themselves, gesturing towards their comrade outside the cell, or to the doors, or even the humans that kept them locked away. At one point a male Eldar, he must have been ancient because he was starting to show some age lines around his face, stood up and approached the door. He said something to Angry Eyes, but she shook her head and they exchanged harsh words before he returned to his seat.

Breakfast duties had gone to Getta this time. She looked on with the same amount of wonder Louk had as the Eldar picked at their food and returned the trash.

"Do you think they are all psykers" she asked him.

"Huh?" He flinched, memory of the guard's words coming back to him. _One of them is a witch_.

"Pyskers, you dunce." She gestured vaguely towards the lot of them. "Farragut thinks the entire race of Eldar is psychically active."

"Oh, right. I don't know." He shrugged carefully and took a sip from one of his refilled canteens. A sucking noise drifted down from the vents above them as the air scrubbers activated. He had checked the system out earlier and discovered there was a manual activation for the air system. Setting it to an internal stream ensured they could not be gassed from the outside whenever the siege began.

It had been almost a full day since they had entered the structure. So far he had diverted one round of replacement guards, but there was no telling when the next would arrive, or if another xenos would stop by. He had been thinking about that other one, the one whose name they had seen so many times on the logbook. If it came back, he would not be able to drive it away. He would have to kill that one, but how? He was hardly in shape to fight it, and Getta wouldn't stand a chance.

This was one of those rare times when he hoped the God-Emperor actually did intervene in the lives of his people.

"Have you figured out what this collar is about?"

Getta's voice tore him from his thoughts. She had approached the Eldar woman's table and was running two fingers along the black band encircling her throat. Louk shook his head.

"Not sure. Maybe it's a… feck if I know. Shock collar or something? I mean, they worked her over so good I wouldn't be surprised if that is what it was."

"What makes her so special" the Scintillan wondered. Her attention drifted down to the woman's hands, and she examined her palms with interest. "Soft hands. She is not a warrior."

"And I'm getting the feeling she is more than a simple civvie" he added, thinking of how strongly the Eldar had reacted to her injuries and healing. "Maybe she is their leader?"

His companion offered a noncommittal grunt. Returning to the collar, she studied the activation stud. "It is gene-coded, I think. Can't open it."

"Fingerprint?"

She nodded. Louk pointed to the basement door.

"Think our buddy downstairs might lend a hand?"

The exasperated glare she gave him made him chuckle. "That is not funny."

"I meant it seriously" he assured her. "He might have put it on her, and if that's so then his genes will unlock the collar."

"I'll have to cut his hand off" she muttered, feeling about her person for her knife. When it did not present itself she frowned. "Where's my knife?"

"Oh, yeah, I borrowed it." He pulled it from his belt and tossed it to her. The Scintillan leapt to the side, not wanting to test her chances on catching the blade midair, and picked it up off the ground.

"Don't throw my knife around. This is a family heir…"

Her words trailed off as she held it up to inspect. A dumbfounded grimace stole across her face, replaced quickly by a look of such savage fury that Louk sat a little straighter in his chair. This would be interesting.

"You broke my knife" she shrieked, storming over to him with the blade pointed in an unfriendly manner. She shoved the broken point in his face. The gleaming metal surface reflected the raging fury in her eyes. "You son of a bitch, this knife was in my family for twenty generations!"

"Sorry?" He shrugged, unfazed by her anger. She was far too feminine to be a real threat to him. Her anger only made her body quiver and sent blood rushing to her face to paint it a silly pink. Not a good angry-face.

"What were you doing with my knife? Hacking through the wall?"

"It was worth it, trust me." He put a hand on the blade and pushed it away. "You'll thank me later."

Words failed her for a long minute. She stood over him, teeth grinding together, arms trembling as she no doubt murdered him a hundred times over in her mind. Louk calmly rose from his chair and pushed past her.

"I'll go get his hand" he told her. He was halfway to the door when she stormed past him, giving him a hard shove that made him stagger for a chair to catch his balance. The jolt sent pain stabbing all through his side and chest. He gasped and clenched his jaw, letting the wave of pain wash over him and fade away. "Okay, I deserved that."

With Getta downstairs he had no real reason to be up and about, but he had the urge to stretch his legs. Sitting around played havoc with his nerves. He was happiest when he was busy. So he strode back to the woman on the table and gave the collar another look.

It was thick, shiny, and sealed tighter than a starship's hull. He played with it a little, seeing how much he could slide it up and down her throat. The area underneath appeared undamaged. It was red, but not bruised. She shied away from his touch, turning her neck as far as she dared to pull away from his hand. That made him pause, and he checked to see if she was sleeping or awake. Sleeping, but not well. Her eyebrows were scrunched close and her jaw twitched constantly, like she was speaking in her dreams. Did Eldar dream? He had always wondered that, if the other races had dreams like humans did.

She was healing quickly, aided by the biofoam and sea of ointments the Scintillan had rubbed into her wounds. Next time he got injured he wanted her by his side. Whether it came as part of her training, or whether she picked it up as she went through life, she had a healer's touch. Maybe he could steal her from Farragut's crew somehow, before they left planet. A dash of chloroform, a hand towel, a good-sized trunk…

The idea made him laugh. Wouldn't have been the first time he did that, though in the past it had been under Helsing's orders.

"What to do with you" he whispered, studying the woman as she lay silently on the table. If things go hairy, if it looked like they were going to be breached, he wanted to move her somewhere besides the middle of the cell room. Assuming the enemy wouldn't go in to kill them all outright, she would be in a crossfire when they came through. He did not want to risk that. No, they would shift her over to the table in the far corner opposite the side room and basement. That might improve her chances of pulling through if the fight came to them. The Eldar in the cells would be buggered, but that was less of his concern.

"Got it" Getta announced as she exited the stairwell. Mindful of the mess the dripping hand would have caused, she had wrapped it up in a now-bloodstained towel. The fetid stench of death accompanied the dismembered limb, causing Louk to wrinkle his nose and turn away. It wasn't the rank decay that disgusted him, but the way it mixed with the dead xenos' heavy perfume. Before he had missed it. The craziness of everything that was happening had hidden it from his senses. But not he could smell it full-force. Like someone had taken a meadow's worth of jasmine and condensed it all into a single elixir. The stench was so thick that even the Eldar in the cells covered their noses.

"Phew, that's awful."

"Don't I know it" she grumbled. Setting the messy pile on a handcart, she unwrapped the package and looked from it to the collar. "Which one do we use?"

He looked to Angry Eyes for the answer. Taking the hand from the cart, he held it up for the Eldar to see. The others all grimaced at the sight; they probably considered this to be desecration of the dead or something. "Hey, which finger?"

She stared at him evenly for a long minute, deciding whether or not to answer. Eventually she answered by lifting a finger. He wasn't sure if she was giving him a real answer or if their race was not as prim and proper as they tried so hard to appear to be. But he went with it, and pressed the xenos' middle finger to the stud. There was a soft click, the white screen flashed green.

And he was thrown back a step as a tidal wave of psychic energy flooded into the room. The Eldar woman's body lifted off the table and a terrible gasping sound came from her as if she had been held underwater for too long. Louk fell to his knees, buffeted by an invisible force. Getta went scrambling back several feet, fighting desperately to keep her balance. Objects went flying in every directions, knifes and bandages and chairs slammed into walls or ricocheted off the cell bars. The Eldar were chattering again, all on their feet as they voiced cries that might have been fear, or joy.

"She's a witch" Getta screamed, grabbing hold of a desk that remained firm against the psychic wave. Dragging herself forward, she pointed to the collar. "Get it back on her!"

"Trying" Louk shouted back.

He threw himself forward and grabbed for the edge of the table. His fingers closed around the cooled steel and he hung on gamely. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his canteen careening towards his head.

As suddenly as the psychic energy had flooded the room, it vanished even faster. They all felt the skin-crawling vortex that snapped out from the gasping woman. Just like that, it all vanished. Like someone had swept the room with a giant broom and brushed it all away. The resulting loss of resistance sent Getta tumbling over the desk to roll against the table legs. She stared up at Louk with wide eyes, mouth open in horror at what they had just unleashed.

"The collar" she mumbled.

He pulled himself up quickly and reached for the band. The Eldar woman was wide awake now, and she gazed at him in alarm. When he reached for the collar she jerked away, a terrified expression coming over her. Her mute cry filled him with a wretched guilt, but he grabbed the two ends and snapped them back together. Green turned to white and she started gagging.

"Oh, feck. Getta, some help!"

The Scintillan pulled herself to her feet and checked her pulse. "Heartbeat is skyrocketing. Shock, I think."

"What is this thing" he demanded.

"Some sort of anti-psychic collar, maybe?" She frowned. Rushing to the side room, she came back with an armful of medical supplies. A white and yellow box sailed out of the mess and Louk snatched it up. There was a suppressor syrette inside. "That will calm her heartbeat."

Not arguing, he drew the shot and injected it straight into her chest. It worked almost immediately. The Eldar gave a rattling sigh and fell still. Her eyes were blurry and tearfilled, and the expression on her face curdled Louk's blood. He stepped away from the table to spare himself that horror. His gaze wandered and he took stock of the mess that the cell room had been turned into. Stuff was everywhere, thrown about by the turbulent psychic force.

A subtle wink of reflected light from inside the cells caught his attention. He looked over just in time to see Angry Eyes quietly slipping Getta's knife to the robed Eldar behind her. They locked eyes, Angry Eyes not appearing the least bit worried that their weapon was discovered. Rising to stand at her full height, she growled four words. The intonation made it clear.

He thought about demanding the knife back, but knew the only way they would turn it over would be if he killed anyone close enough to protect it. And he had a pretty good feeling that the black-suited Eldar all knew how to throw a knife. If he started shooting he could kill a few, but one of them would put that blade in his eye. Hell, they could do it right now if they really wanted to.

"This just keeps getting better" he muttered. Shaking his head, he made a dismissive gesture that told them he would not ask for the knife. It did not appease Angry Eyes, but she sat back down and resumed gazing at her comrade on the table. The Eldar child was crying quietly in the corner.

"Do you know if they have any psykers out there?" Louk grabbed Getta by the arm and walked her towards the hallway, away from the cells. "We just set off the equivalent of a psychic beacon. If they have something out there that can feel it, we're about to be seeing visitors."

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know, but I agree with you. We should start fortifying the front room."

"I'll handle that" he promised. He fetched his lascarbine and stuffed half of the grenades into his pockets. Turning back to the hallway that led out, he hesitated. Shotgun, lascarbine, autopistol, laspistol. It was a lot of weapons for only two people. They wouldn't be able to fully utilize their firepower in here. And he doubted his autopistol would be much of a help in a straight fight.

"What are you doing" Getta asked, tracking him across the room as he strode over to the cell.

"Something I might regret" he told her. Slinging the lascarbine over his shoulder, he drew his autopistol and pointed it at the ground. Angry Eyes spared it a short glance. When he flipped it around and held it out, butt-first through the bars, Getta shrieked and rushed to his side.

"Easy" he told her, holding out his other hand to keep her at arm's length.

"Are you sparked? She's going to kill us with that!"

"No, she won't." He crouched down slowly until he was at eye-level with Angry Eyes. She had made no move towards the sidearm. Her arms were tensed again, ready to spring. There was a war raging behind those blue eyes, a war that was deciding their fates. The other Eldar watched the exchange with undisguised interest. "You won't kill us, because we are your ticket out of here. Am I right?"

A disgusted scowl contorted her features. Plucking the pistol from his hand, she ejected the magazine, racked the slide, caught the spare bullet and put it back in. She aimed it straight at his heart, testing the sights for their reliability. What she found met her approval. The magazine clicked back into position and she chambered a round. For a breathless moment she held it up again, extending her arm so that the suppressor tip pushed against the underside of his chin. The cold emotionless mask reasserted itself over her face and she jerked the weapon up, imitating the recoil of a shot.

Louk pulled his extra magazines and handed them over. She accepted them without a word, setting them beside her on the bench.

"Just in case you miss" he told her, tapping his chest just over his heart. "It's right here."

"You are insane" Getta whimpered, eyeing the now-armed Eldar with fear. "You know that, right?"

"Some of the best survivors I ever knew were insane" he replied, standing back up with some difficulty. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Getta. She won't try and kill us until after the Guard arrives."

She split ways with him and went down into the basement. Moving along his own path, he moved to the front room and began sizing the place up. They could make a barricade of crates here, if they had the time. Between his wounds and Getta's inconsiderable strength it would take them a while to get it done. It would have to be a layered defense: Main door, front room, hallway, cell room. The further in they got, the harder it would be to stop them. The glass between the hallway and the side room was probably blast proof, but a grenade would crack it open, and then they would have two doorways to hold.

The Main door would be easy. It would stand up on its own. Once they got through that, depending on how much of the door was removed, they could use a thick layer of crates for cover and stall any attackers with grenades and lasfire. The shotgun would be best used in the narrow confines of the hallway, where every blast could sweep the entire corridor. And Getta should take his _kopis_. He had no confidence in his ability to use it now. He was too badly damaged for that sort of combat.

When Getta came in he could explain it all to her and they could get to work. All they had to do was pray that no one came by unt-

_BBRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAANNNNNNGGGG_

The door buzzer killed those hopes. Louk turned to stare at the door, wondering just how badly Fate hated him to make this happen twice in a row. Every time he wanted to leave the room, someone came knocking. The buzzer sounded repeatedly, as if someone was sitting there jamming on the button.

"It's them" Getta said. She stood at the mouth of the hallway, the shotgun held in trembling hands. Louk nodded slowly and pointed to her laspistol. She handed it over and he moved to the door. Breathing a silent prayer, he started to open it.

The scowling visage of a _Druchii_ Eldar towered over him. At a distance it had been large and fearsome in its scaled armor and inhuman appearance. In person, face to face, it was a terrifying sight. The armor gleamed off light that did not exist, contrasting sharply with its pale skin and blood-red eyes. Louk swallowed nervously, muscles frozen. He held the laspistol at his side, hidden by the door, and couldn't bring himself to raise it.

"Who unshackled the Farseer" the Eldar demanded. His words were thick with an exotic accent. The softer consonants slithered together, making his skin crawl. When he made no move to open the door wider the xenos' eyes narrowed and he put a hand on the butt of a pistol-like device at his side.

"It… uh… was the boss" Louk mumbled, frantically trying to think of something to say. When the Eldar did not immediately gun him down he took a deep, pained breath. The Eldar glanced at his wounds with little care.

"Stand aside, _monkeigh_."

"I… can't do that, s- my lord." His fingers curled tighter around the grip of his pistol. He thought he saw another heavyset figure approaching from the direction of the Tower. Probably another one of the xenos. _Shoot him. Shoot him. Shoot him!_

The Eldar drew his pistol and leveled it against Louk's forehead. "You insolent wretch! I will-"

Whatever he was going to do never came to light. An explosion of blood and brain matter showered Louk's face and the Eldar's body toppled forwards. Before he could begin to fathom what happened something heavy slammed into him and pinned him to the wall. An armored gauntlet pressed against his throat, choking him. A bearded face with deep set eyes and burn scars over the nose and left cheek hovered just inches from his own face, backed up by the gaping barrel of a handcannon.

"In the name of the Holy Inquisition I offer you one chance to surrender yourself to judgment and atone for your heathen crimes" the newcomer growled.


	7. The New Guy

_**Iora, Present Day**_

"May I ask you something, Miss Seeker?"

Her mask stared back at him, expression hidden from sight. Five days now they had sat together and enjoyed the setting of the sun, the memories of his time under the mountain. He lived for these evenings now. The remembrancer was better company than any Ioran noble he had suffered conversation with. She was sharp, intelligent, and lacked just the right amount of humor to keep him laughing at his own jokes.

Getting information from her was like trying to choke down Ork spit. It just didn't happen. That did not stop him from trying. He greatly enjoyed trying to wheedle and cajole even the smallest hint about her life. It was a game, and one that he was determined to win.

"You may ask" was her answer, as neutral and unhelpful as he expected it to be. There was a hint of resignation in her posture. She had learned by now that he was not going to stop with the questions. If he ever learned who she truly was, he would spend some time looking for other works she had done. It would be interesting to see her topics' base. Did she specialize in Inquisitors and other secretive members of the Imperial system? How would he compare to her other biographies?

"All this time you have been in our house you have worn the same garment. I don't think you have ever taken it off, even when you were sleeping. Do you need more?"

She did not reply immediately. Judging by the reserved silence, her mind was dwelling more on the fact that he had mentioned her sleeping than on his question. It took her a little while to work her thoughts into order. When she did speak, there was no hint of tension in her voice. It was calm, emotionless. She was very good at emotionless. And she ignored the very obvious question that was no doubt burning in her mind.

"I have two sets of clothes, sir. I would like to avail myself to cleaning facilities, but I have more than enough to get me by. Thank you for your concern."

"Yes… concern."

He smiled at her, knowing that she had seen through the thinly veiled attempt to learn something about her.

"I will have Jaycel take your clothes the next time he goes out."

"You are very generous, sir."

And likely to have the man run some scans on her clothes, to see if he could pinpoint the origin of what she wore. It would be a slim lead at best, but something was better than nothing.

"That may be the first time anyone has told me that, Miss Seeker."

"I can imagine the sort of things others would say about you." She inclined her head towards the door. "Your man Jaycel seems to think highly of you."

"Does he now?" Louk chuckled softly. "I imagine he loathes this duty; attending to the life of a dying man when he could be off battling the foes of the Imperium."

"I do not believe it is so. From my observations he appears to hold you in great esteem."

"You are making me blush" he protested, grinning at the thought. "I was led to believe that remembrancers do not lie."

"He has copies of all of your published reports in his room. Paper copies, thoroughly marked."

He felt a touch of pride surge through his body. Of course his life-guard would never admit such a thing, but just knowing that filled him with that sense that he had done something right. In his early years he could never have imagined anyone wanting to read his exploits. Most were not the kind a civilized person could stomach.

"You know" he began, easing further back into his chair. His yes drooped and he fixed the remembrancer with a warm grin. "I believe you just earned today's story. Thank you for that, my dear. It does this old heart good to hear he is appreciated."

She did not reply immediately, but when she did there was some hesitation. "I… you do me more honor than I deserve. I merely related what I saw."

"Yes, you did" he agreed. "You did indeed."

**Under the mountain**

A bearded face with deep set eyes and burn scars over the nose and left cheek hovered just inches from his own face, backed up by the gaping barrel of a handcannon.

"In the name of the Holy Inquisition I offer you one chance to surrender yourself to judgment and atone for your heathen crimes" the newcomer growled. The handcannon jammed itself against his eye, bringing to light just how serious this man was in his threat.

Louk let the laspistol remain at his side. If he tried to raise it he'd only get himself shot. That did not mean he had to roll over and piss on himself for this intruder.

"Two against one" he warned. That gave the man a moment's pause, if only to shoot the woman a contemptuous sneer. Leaning harder against Louk, the man reached behind himself with his foot and edged the door closed. Smart to keep his back protected.

"Trembling like a leaf, and armed with a shotgun at that. She'd take you with me and she knows it." He shifted the handcannon in her direction. "How about you lay that scatter on the desk and step away. Don't try to run to the back to get help from any friends either. I'd hate to shoot a woman in the back."

She did as he ordered, eyes wide. Sparing her a glance, Louk saw that she recognized the man who had an arm over his throat. That was not good. She looked absolutely terrified and seemed too eager to comply for his liking. Whoever this was holding him by the throat, he was a terror. That made his next words that much more courageous in his own mind.

"Name and rank" Louk demanded. "Because you aren't the only one with that claim. I am Louk Shannegh. I serve the Inquisition. This is Getta, she serves as well. We were sent here ahead of the Imperial troops by our masters. We are on the same side."

"Is that so?" The man gave Getta another look, then turned back to Louk. He eased off the pressure just a little, though his posture was anything but calming. "Give me their names, and I will give you mine."

"Louk." Getta caught his attention and, looking to the pistol at his side, shook her head vigorously. "This is Inquisitor Jadus."

The man's face twisted in disappointment. A sigh passed from his lips and he stepped fully back. The handcannon returned to threaten Louk, just in case. "Unfortunately, I doubt I have any fans within these mountains. For you to know who I am must mean you speak some form of truth."

"You are Inquisitor Jadus" Louk repeated, slowly holding the laspistol to the side to set it on the desk.

He gestured towards the door and the Inquisitor stepped back, still holding the scoundrel in his sights. Louk secured the lock and dragged the Eldar's corpse out of the way. It was heavy for such a small figure. The armor added a lot of weight.

"Guess you outrank us then" he told Jadus. "What are you doing so far ahead of the Guard?"

"If you want something done right, don't send a servant" the Inquisitor said. He remained standing in place, though his gaze drifted across the two of them in close scrutiny. Inquisitor Jadus was a hardy man, tall and broad shouldered under a purposefully dirtied uniform of carapace and mesh. He had a second pistol shoved in a holster across his left thigh. It was long-barreled and seemed quite primitive, with its steel barrel and wooden grip. An archeotech weapon, maybe. It would be very dangerous if an Inquisitor found it worthy of carrying. "What are your orders here?"

"Identify and neutralize key enemy command and equipment" Louk lied for the both of them. He had a strong feeling that if he told the man his true orders his head would end up like the dead Eldar's down in the basement. Helsing had spoken little of this Inquisitor, but what he had said was that Jadus was an impatient, puritanical miser who loved nothing more than executing a heretic.

"A worth goal, to be sure" Jadus said with scorn clear in his tone. "I can see you two are doing that quite well bunkered up in this little building."

"Things were getting hot. We needed to dodge the heat." Louk tapped the corpse on the shoulder. "I took out one of these bastards yesterday."

"Did you now?" The Inquisitor finally lowered his sidearm and shoved it into its holster. Crossing his arms over his brawny chest, he nodded for Louk to stand. "I take it the xenos scum fought back."

"It didn't go down quite the same way yours did." He could not stop himself from the challenge. "Mine knew I was coming."

"My lord." Getta stole the Inquisitor's attention. She bobbed her head meekly. "Getta, at your service. We were in the process of securing this building from outside attack when you… uh, arrived. Should we expect more of your team?"

"I travel alone" he told her, snapping as if she had offended him. His gaze went back to Louk. "Unlike some gloryseeking buffoons, I do not need a harem of adoring minions at my beck and call. You are one of Helsing's Hounds, am I not correct?"

"Helsing pays me, yes."

"Typical." The Inquisitor snorted in disgust. "He does have decadent tastes. Enough with this time-wasting drivel. You, show me what you have found in here. There must be a reason why that xenos shit wanted in here."

He shooed Getta further into the building, not bothering to invite Louk along. For his part, the rogue had availed himself to the xenos's pistol and was studying it intently. It was strange weapon, shaped roughly like a pistol but of a more elegant design than any he had seen before. Testing the balance, he found that it was lighter than his own weapon too. He shoved it into his belt just in case. It could never hurt to have an extra sidearm.

The familiar cacophony of Eldar voices alerted him that his presence in the cell room was needed. Louk fingered the butt of his autopistol as he rose and moved out of the front room. He was rapidly losing patience for this colossal fuster cluck. If one more thing went wrong he was going to shoot everything that pissed him off.

Outrage must have been the only real emotion that Eldar possessed. If they were capable of anything else, he doubted he would ever see it. When he entered the cell room he found Inquisitor Jadus standing over the Eldar woman, a snarl of inhuman rage twisting his face. He had one hand around the woman's throat, the other holding his handcannon level with Getta's terrified face. Angry Eyes stood at the bars, autopistol raised and ready to fire. Somehow, Louk was not surprised.

"Stand down" Louk shouted, not sure if any of the room's inhabitants would listen. Both Angry Eyes and the Inquisitor shot him the barest glance before returning their attentions to each other. The weapons did not lower, but Jadus's grip tightened on the Eldar's throat. She made pitiful gagging noises, wheezing for breath through the man's iron grip. Her whole body twitched and shuddered as if she were trying to reach up and protect herself but couldn't.

"You will explain this cock-and-balls situation right now" the Inquisitor ordered. His eyes blazed hotter than promethium. "And you had better hurry if you want to live."

"Hey, easy there, sir." Louk cut in between Angry Eyes and the Inquisitor, ruining the Eldar's aim. She snarled something behind his back, but when he did not feel a burst of slugs come tearing through his back he proceeded. "How about everyone lowers their guns first? There are a lot of twitchy trigger fingers in this room and I for one don't want to-"

"Now" Jadus snapped. He switched his aim from Getta to Louk. "Or I swear by the Throne I will execute you all and then finish off these xenos by myself."

"Nobody needs to die!" Louk shook his head. "If you want to know what's going on, this is what went down: when we came in here the Eldar were already locked in their cells. The one on the table was downstairs being beaten to hell by a buddy of the one you just shot back in the entrance. I killed the bastard and brought this one up here to patch her up. We were expecting trouble and getting ready to barricade this place until the Guard arrived. That's where you showed up."

"Why is that bitch armed?"

"Angry Eyes?" Louk turned back towards her and motioned for her to lower the pistol. Her expression did not waver and she held it dead center on Jadus's chest. As long as he had a hand on her kin's throat, she was not going to stand down. "They have as much to lose as us if the other ones got in here."

"So you armed a xenos warrior. Are you daft in the head?"

"I am willing to do what it takes to survive" Louk countered. He jerked his head back to the cell. "I'm not letting them out, but if a horde of those traitors out there come banging on our door an extra gun couldn't hurt."

"Until it shoots you in the back. What sort of idiocy is Helsing allowing that he entrusts missions to naïve xenophiles? Xenos are treacherous, filthy, and utterly vile."

"Yeah and they eat babies for dessert too." Louk scowled at the man. "Look, I wanted to live long enough to walk out of here. We…" he gestured from himself to Getta, "weighed our options and this was what we decided on. The Eldar are not a threat to us at this moment. Well…"

He felt confident enough to point to Jadus's hand. "If you don't ease up on her then they're going to have one hell of a score to settle with you. She's their leader, and if you kill her the mob is going to come at you with more than pitchforks."

The fact that he was guessing at her importance slipped past the man. Louk had a sneaking suspicion that the woman on the table was indeed some sort of Eldar leader. It made sense, considering how she had been singled out for torture. And her possession of psychic power clearly merited a suppressor device.

"Now you can say the word and we can turn this room into a fecking bloodbath, or you can lower your weapons and we can talk this out peacefully. I for one would prefer the second option. Especially considering the fact that the entire cavern might be alerted to our presence, what with you gunning down one of the Eldar in broad daylight and with the psychic beacon we just accidentally set off."

No one moved for a long, agonizing minute. Louk stood in the middle, struggling to keep still. Their faces said it all. Angry Eyes wanted nothing more than to shoot the Inquisitor dead. The Inquisitor could not believe what he was hearing. Rage dragged across both of their faces.

"Relieve that xenos of her weapon and I will stand down" the Inquisitor said at last, the words grinding out through his teeth. He released his hold on the woman's throat, clearing her airways for her to start gasping for breath. His hand curled into a fist with two knuckles extended, hovering just over her throat. The threat was still there, but not as immediate asit had been. Progress. "But only because I could find use for the two of you."

Louk nodded slowly and made a deliberate turn back towards the cells. He held out a hand towards Angry Eyes.

"Give me the gun" he ordered, speaking firmly but gently. The Eldar warrior did not lower her weapon. Some of the strain had disappeared from her face, and she turned her eyes on him. He caught the brief flicker of uncertainty that flashed in her dazzling blue orbs. "All you have to do is give me the gun. Your friend will be safe. I give you my word."

It wasn't much of a promise, and they both knew it. She didn't have to know what an Inquisitor was to understand that the brute standing over her comrade was a snake and a killer. But Angry Eyes had intelligence, and she knew that this deal was better than what she could have expected. Giving Louk a curt nod, she flipped the weapon over and handed it to him, butt-first. He accepted it and gave a barely-perceptible shake of his head when she reached for the magazines and the knife.

_Keep those_, he mouthed. The Eldar's mouth almost curved towards a smile. She sat back on the bench, motioning for the others to return to their seats. Just like that, the Eldar went back to being docile prisoners.

"Impressive" the Inquisitor admitted, lowering his weapon. He stepped back from the table. "Your camaraderie with these xenos apes is certainly worthy of Helsing's reputation."

"They are just as intelligent as we are" Louk muttered. "She recognized the deal and made it."

"If you try to humanize these wretches I will shoot you where you stand" Jadus growled. "They are xenos, beasts."

He refused to rise to the bait. An unwelcome gleam had settled in the Inquisitor's eyes. It was a cold, calculating look that he had seen on Helsing's face many times before. The last thing he needed to do was get into a verbal spar with Inquisitor Jadus. That would only end in one of them getting shot, and he had to place his bet on Jadus winning that duel. He was still weak and slow, hardly a threat to a powerful warrior-hunter like the one that stood before him.

"Getta." Louk turned to the Scintillan, who had been standing beside the door to the side room with the unmistakable expression of someone trying to avoid being noticed. "Please give the Inquisitor a tour of the basement and our inventory. I am sure he wants an appraisal of our situation."

She nodded meekly and approached Jadus. "If it pleases you, my lord."

The Inquisitor nodded and motioned for her to lead the way. He stopped at the door to the basement, choosing to give Louk one final warning before they lost sight of each other.

"Just so you are informed, your 'employer,' as you called him, is no more. His cadre was wiped out on the slopes of the mountain. These traitorous soldiers have taken to rolling artillery shells down the slopes into the Guard. As of this moment you no longer hold any authority or protection from the Inquisition. You are a simple freelancer, a mercenary with nothing to hold him down. If you follow my commands and see this through I will allow you to be transferred to another Inquisitor's retinue. If you do not…"

He left the remainder unsaid. It was a clever tactic, a simple yet time-honored clause that set countless souls off balance as their imaginations ran wild. Louk wasn't listening. He stared at the Inquisitor, grimfaced and screaming internally. Helsing, dead? He couldn't believe it. That couldn't be true. Not the entire unit, at least. Maybe a few had been killed, maybe a lot. But not Helsing. Helsing was a bloody force of nature. Louk had seen him walk out of the most catastrophic dangers without harm. There was no way his life could be cut short fighting rebels on an Imperial world. A man like Helsing was destined to go down fighting demons.

The instant the door closed he sat down heavily and exhaled sharply. The powerful breath scratched at his injured lung. It turned into a gasp, then a cough, and suddenly Louk was retching blood onto the floor. He curled up on the chair, clutching his gut to put pressure on the needle-sharp pain tickling his sides.

It was decided then. The God-Emperor had him on his shit-list. There wasn't much else to do about it. With no Inquisitor for protection, and a puritanical fire eater just down the stairs, he had nothing going his way. His only ally was paralyzed by the Inquisitor's presence, reduced to servile incompetence at the very sight of him. He wasn't even sure if he was looking forward to the Guard arriving now. What were the odds that Jadus would find a way to have him shot just out of spite? Damned high according to Helsing's accounts. Consorting with the enemy, corruption of the soul… the Inquisitor could say whatever he wanted and Louk had clearly not made a good impression so far.

When his breathing came back to him Louk stood up and walked over to the cell. He stood before Angry Eyes, meeting her gaze and realizing that, for the first time, there was no trace of anger or hatred there. She stared calmly up at him, expression unreadable. All of the Eldar watched him, curious to see what he would do or say.

"If he kills me" Louk said, drawing the pistol he had taken from the Eldar's corpse. He shoved it through the bars and into Angry Eyes's hands. "Aim for his heart and don't let off the trigger until you can crawl through the hole."

The Eldar accepted the weapon gingerly, her fingers running across the weapon. She did not appear familiar with it, but that did not stop her from slipping it behind her back. In return for the weapon she handed him the magazines of his autopistol back. He accepted them, then passed Getta's laspistol to the next warrior-looking Eldar in the cell. The Eldar exchanged muted whispers at his unexpected decision. Angry Eyes silenced them with a sharp wave of her hand.

"If we all get killed" he told them, gesturing to himself and down the stairs, "demand to see Farragut when the Guard gets in here. You might stand a chance with him. And make sure Jadus doesn't' see those weapons. For that matter, make sure Getta doesn't either."

A great weight settled in the pit of his stomach and he turned away from the cell. His hands were shaking, and he nervously searched in his pouch for a stimm shot. Two left. Selecting one, he jammed it into his arm and depressed the plunger. The normally soothing sensation of adrenaline flooding his body was muted, less powerful than before. He had been noticing the decline more and more in the past few months. His body was building up a tolerance to the boosters. When that happened, when the adrenaline wouldn't help anymore, he would be out. His limited time in this galaxy was drawing to a close. His rough estimate was two more years before he couldn't keep the pain away. Judging by the feeling in his gut, he wouldn't be living that long.

"_Monkeigh_." Angry Eyes rose from the bench and stood against the bars. Louk cast her a curious look. "Why?"

"So you can talk" he muttered, not surprised by the revelation. He could not think of a good reason, not anymore. Orders? Not if Helsing was dead. Honor? Never. Why was he doing it?

When he did not answer her the Eldar returned to her seat, a hint of confusion seeping into her expression. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied him as if seeing him for the first time. Whatever opinion she formed, it was to her liking. Or so he assumed. It was hard to tell with Eldar.

"And now I'm on speaking terms with a xenos." He held in a grunt and checked on the woman on the table. She appeared no worse for the Inquisitor's touch. Her half-closed eyelids twitched in his direction and she took a deep breath of the kind she would not have been able to make the day before. Her blue eyes peeked out from underneath her eyelids, so tired and defeated. The black-armored Eldar had broken this woman. Whatever she had once been, she was no longer.

He reached out his hand and touched the collar on her neck. She stiffened at his contact, and he returned his hand to his side.

"I am sorry for that" he told her, syllables fumbling their way out of his mouth. "But right now that is keeping you safe. If Inquisitor Jadus finds out you're a witch, he'll kill you without hesitation.

She seemed to understand, and her expression softened. Her eyes opened fully, regarding him with that same expression that Angry Eyes had… Louk glanced back at the Eldar warrior woman in shock. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. He gazed down at the woman on the table, then back to Angry Eyes for confirmation. Their blue eyes were so startlingly similar, their faces chiseled from the same mold. He hadn't seen it before because of how badly her face was damaged.

"You are family" he gasped. Angry Eyes nodded slowly, gaze shifting to the woman on the table. Now he could understand why she reacted so strongly. This wasn't just a comrade of hers. This was her… what? Mother, sister, daughter? "Feck me."

He stepped away from the table and shuddered. Throne, if he had known that earlier this whole situation could have been different. The Eldar could have been allies, maybe. It was too late now. Jadus's presence soured any chance of that happening. He felt a slight urge to let Angry Eyes out to see to her sister, but that would not fly. Not with the Inquisitor here.

There were far too many variables here. He found himself longing for the simplicity of life under Helsing's direct orders. Even life in the underhive had not been this messy. Now he was dealing with all sorts of things he had no experience with.

"Hey." He glanced over at Angry Eyes, mind working to find solutions to problems he knew he could never figure out. This sort of thing went well above his pay grade. Right now he had more immediate concerns to deal with. "So how did this all go down, anyways?"

The Eldar graced him with a contemplative look, but did not reply. She did not appear to be in much of a talking mood. Just because she could speak in Gothic did not mean she was going to. It did not surprise him much. The Eldar had not earned their reputation for being sneaky and wily by running their mouths off at every opportunity.

The basement door opened and Inquisitor Jadus entered, followed closely by Getta. To his surprise the Inquisitor appeared less than angry. What he had found downstairs impressed him. The Inquisitor regarded Louk carefully before speaking to him.

"That was a hard-fought battle" he said. Unsure if that was merely an observation or congratulation, Louk did not reply. "The xenos you killed down there was a leader, I believe. As was the one I slew in the entrance. So far you are holding up your mission. An active enemy commander eliminated, a host held… well, now they are prisoners. I am still not sure where they stood when you were alone here, but in light of your execution below I will offer you some benefit of the doubt. We are well-stocked for a siege, which I have no doubt it may come down to."

"Thank you, sir." Louk leaned against the Eldar woman's table for support. "So what are your orders. Are you heading back out?"

"No, I do not believe so. I realize now I may have been hasty in pursuing that 'psychic beacon' as you called it. Enemy forces are no doubt converging on this building as we speak." A sharp look stole across his face. "What was that? It was more powerful than anything I have felt before. Was it a weapon, or was it a person?"

He moved as he spoke, striding over to the table. His gaze rested intently on the woman's collar. Jadus was no fool; he knew importance when he saw it. Louk shot Getta a warning look before she could say anything.

"It was the one I killed" Louk lied. "He was a psyker. Throne was with me though, and I killed him before he could get anything nasty off."

"You are a terrible liar" Jadus said. His voice lacked any sign of irritation, rather, he appeared pleased with the effort Louk had put into it. "You should understand by now that Holy Inquisitors excel at discovering the truth."

"I think I know what I am talking about" Louk said, keeping his tone and face neutral. "That bastard nearly set me on fire with his mind."

"Did he now? Care to show me the scars?" Jadus reached over the woman and picked up the bloody hand lying on the cart. He examined it carefully, taking in the details that mattered. "This belongs to that Eldar downstairs. And it is missing its finger. Which I naturally can deduce to mean that its finger unlocks this collar. And judging by how the psychic signature appeared and then disappeared in matter of seconds, I have to assume that this creature is responsible for it."

"It would be a possibility" Louk agreed. He had to clench his jaw to avoid trembling. "Or it could be that I shot the bastard as he was powering up."

"And then managed to bandage yourself up in a matter of minutes. Really, your lies are quite tiresome." The Inquisitor drew his other siderarm, the one that Louk guessed to be archeotech. He calmly checked the firing mechanism before lifting the weapon to rest lightly on the swell of the Eldar's breast. She whimpered as if struck, body jerking and shuddering as if the weapon's touch was causing her pain. "This is a very special weapon. _Ahriman's Bane_, it is called. A sanctified relic of past ages when the Primarchs themselves walked the mortal planes. Its very touch causes intense pain to beings of psychic power."

"All Eldar are psychic" Louk countered, refusing to budge. "That would hurt any of them, if that is true."

"If you call these beasts by anything other than what they are I will be very displeased" he warned. "Say it again, correctly this time."

Louk glanced down at the writhing Eldar woman on the table. Her robes were beginning to smoke under the barrel. She was clearly in pain, and trying to play the Inquisitor any more could result in her death. He did not want that on his conscience, and he could see Angry Eyes reaching behind her back in his peripheral vision. They were about to go right back to square one.

"These… beasts… are all psychic" Louk growled. He reached forward and slipped his hand between the barrel of the pistol and the Eldar woman's body. She shuddered as the pain disappeared, sagging helplessly against the table. "You've made your point, sir. It was her. That collar acts as some sort of psychic suppressant that neutralized her powers. We took it off and it all came spilling out, so I put it back on. That's it, she is not a threat."

"Certainly not at this moment." The Inquisitor studied the woman's face with an intensity that made Louk's skin crawl. "A pity you did not let that xenos downstairs finish her off."

"They were keeping her alive on purpose" Louk replied. "She wouldn't have died."

"You could have left her down there, let her waste away."

"She..." Louk hesitated, uncertain of what to say. Getta stepped forward unexpectedly to his aid.

"We were using her as a hostage, my lord. To ensure the behavior of the xenos in the cells. They were unwilling to give us trouble while we held their comrade's life in our hands."

Her answer did not satisfy the Inquisitor, but he said no more. Holstering his pistol, he gestured toward the collar. It still held his attention.

"So where is the missing finger that can unlock this collar?"

"I have it" Louk assured him. "And I won't be pulling it out again."

"I want to see it."

Louk glanced over to Getta, who shrugged indifferently. Inquisitor's orders were absolute in her mind. One hand tightened on the grip of his autopistol while he fished the severed finger out with the other. The Inquisitor took the finger carefully, comparing it to the hand on the rag. He studied it for a minute before casting Louk a dubious glance.

"Please, feel free to fondle the beast as long as you desire. Just make my course that much simpler for me."

Louk pulled his hand away sharply. He had let it slide to the woman's shoulder, where he was squeezing comfortingly. The Eldar woman continued to groan softly, still aching from the touch of the weapon. He risked a peek and saw that her skin had been burned there, delicate flesh blistered by its touch.

"Getta." He gestured to the wound. The Scintillan looked to the Inquisitor for permission, but Jadus had his attention on the finger. So she scuttled off to get something to clean and bandage the woman. It was about time for them to change her bandages anyways. Time to change his own as well.

"I want you to fetch me the beast's other finger" Jadus ordered. He did not bother looking over at Louk. "Now."

Nodding with surly obedience, Louk headed down the stairs and checked on the dead xenos. He stopped at the base of the stairs, glancing back up to see if the Inquisitor had followed him. He had not. Louk's instincts told him what the Inquisitor was planning. He was going to destroy the xenos's fingers so that the collar could not be unlocked.

He did not know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, the last thing they needed on their hands was a half-aware witch with untold power at their backs. On the other hand, he had no faith in the Inquisitor's intentions. The Eldar woman had suffered horrendously already. He did not want to inflict any more pain on her than she had already suffered.

Louk knelt carefully before the dead xenos. He checked the Eldar's remaining hand and studied the fingers. The middle and ring fingers were the same size, same shape. He felt his heart leap a little with joy, a sensation he had not expected and did not quite understand. Drawing his combat knife, he sliced off both fingers and tucked the correct one into a pocket inside his jacket. He kept the ring finger in his hand to give to Jadus. Time to see just how good this smug bastard was at discovering the truth.

When he returned to the cell room he found Getta working on the Eldar woman's bandages. Jadus stood before the cell, examining the prisoners with a disgusted grimace on his face. His gaze rested long on Angry Eyes. She had shown herself to be a threat, and the two had resumed their earlier staring contest. Louk steeled his nerves and walked over to the Inquistior, drawing both of their attentions.

"The finger, sir." He held it out for Jadus to inspect. The Inquisitor took it and held it to the other one to compare. It passed his muster, and he calmly set both on the floor beside his boot.

"Efficient" the Inquisitor told him. "You are not entirely useless."

Louk forced himself to remain there as the Inquisitor lifted his boot and stomped down hard on the fingers. His steel shod footwear crushed both in a squirt of blood and flesh. The Eldar all cried out in horror at the brutal action. Only Angry Eyes remained quiet. Her gaze held that same level of hatred and promise that she had once fixed Louk with. How she kept her hands away from the pistol behind her back was a marvel.

"I hope this will settle any doubts you have about the creature on the table" Jadus told them all. He fixed Getta with a glare that froze her in place. "And desist from expending our medical supplies on that wretched thing. Leave it to its fate. The life of a beast is nothing compared to a human's, after all."

Getta glanced from the Inquisitor to Louk, bandages in hand. She was halfway down with re-wrapping her wounds. Most were still uncovered. The humane thing to do would be to at least finish covering her. Louk shot her a meaningful look. _Just finish that one wrap, at least._

"As you wish, my lord." She bowed her head and stepped back from the table. The apologetic look on her face told Louk everything he needed to know. She was not going to push back against the Inquisitor in the slightest. The man had her completely cowed. Louk had no allies in here anymore. Well, maybe he had a few. The Eldar in the cells were watching him in silence. How fecked was the world when he had to trust xenos to protect himself against humans?


	8. Liar, Liar, That Witchfire

**Author's Notes:  
Thank you reviewers for the indepth comments. It helps a lot when I know what I am doing well and what I need to improve on.**

** Bibotot: I laughed long and hard at the Matt Ward comment. As for the other (Dark Eldar) stuff, I'm trying to write this from a pretty limited character perspective, so a lot of things that happen in this story may be entirely explainable, but not to Louk Shannegh at the time. He's a hiveborn backstabber who spent most of his life living in the gutters of society, so things like Eldar weaponry, even if not super fancy, look pretty darn awesome to a guy like him. Also, I hope I answered your question about Jadus satisfactorily in this chapter.**

** Lord Ares: Don't worry, this powder keg will keep gaining pressure for a while yet. You're probably going to laugh your pants off when the whole thing finally goes down.**

** SpecialRelativity: Thanks for the reviews. I share your dislike of the Evil Space Elves.**

** Nakrato, ditto above.**

**Finally, **

**Under the Mountain**

Given that he was expecting to get shot at any given point, Louk had decided the situation was not as bad as he had feared. The Inquisitor continued to lord it over them like a pompous and well-armed ass, but at least he had a decent head on his shoulders. He even deigned to aid in the carrying of heavy objects once Louk had proven to be sufficiently enough wounded to make such work inadvisable. The constant sneering and belittling remarks came as no surprise either, nor were they things he had not heard before.

Jadus also largely ignored the Eldar in the cells, deeming them unworthy of his regard. He had made it clear that once the Guard came in and ammunition was no longer a worry he would not hesitate to kill them all. But for now it was impractical. The Eldar knew it, he was not a subtle man, but they made no move to act on their own. Angry Eyes seemed to think Louk knew what he was doing.

Long story short, life was workable. Not ideal, but workable. At least they had not been attacked by anyone yet. The front doors had remained remarkably quiet; not even a hint of snoopers coming by to check on their status. With Jadus standing by, Getta had slunk out and cleaned off the blood that had landed on the outside. Louk had been in the cell room when they did that, organizing crates so that they could be shoved over to create an emergency barricade if the fight came that far in. Judging by the lack of gunshots that followed Getta's reentry, they were still in the clear.

He listened to the sound of the door scraping shut. A tingling in his chest signaled the change in air pressure, and he spent a moment studying the sensations coming from his various wounds. They were coming along nicely. In a few days he might even be able to run a bit. Not that he needed to run in a building this small.

Shoving his hands into pockets, Louk sat down on a crate and waited for the two to come back in. There wasn't much else he could do at this point, and he was honestly enjoying the lack of responsibility that came with having a leader around. All he had to worry about was doing what he was told, work-wise. He did not mind leaving the planning to Inquisitor Jadus. One less thing to worry about. And he still had too many things to worry about as it was.

If Jadus had done one stupid thing so far, it was probably when he stood in front of the Eldars' cell and told them he was going to kill them all when this was said and done. Louk might not have been a genius, but he was pretty damn sure that telling a crowd of powerful warriors that they were going to be butchered in cold blood was a sure way to start trouble. Ignoring the fact that they had three weapons hidden away, they could probably break out of the cells with little trouble. The bars were sturdy but ancient, and those black-suited Eldar appeared pretty damn tough. The one thing that kept them inside had probably been the threat of losing their psyker on the table. It might still be the only thing holding them back.

For her part, the battered woman was growing more conscious more often. He still caught her eyes closed more often than open, but from time to time he would find her gazing about the room, face set in concentration. Probably testing her limbs to see what control she retained. The one time he approached her to check on her the Inquisitor barked a command to stay away. He clearly did not trust Louk around the woman, which in all honesty was the smart decision. Louk wanted to take care of the woman. He hated to see any living being suffer this horribly. It brought back too many terrible memories.

"Louk." Getta's weary voice announced her entrance. The toil of the past few days showed on her face. There were bags under her eyes, her smile was worn and held little pleasantry, her movements were slow. Her head drooped a little as if she were about to pass out, and she quickly sat down. She had been without sleep for a while now, and was not likely to get some anytime soon. Jadus had shown no hint of letting up on them. He worked like a machine, always jumping to the next thing and not stopping for breaks.

"Front secured?"

"Mhm, hmm." She closed her eyes and rested her head against a crate of paper sheafs. "Inquisitor wants you up front."

"He say why?"

"Just… get going, please. 'm too tired to talk."

Louk nodded and strode past her. He hesitated in the doorway, looking down at his tired companion with a mix of suspicion and guilt. It wasn't her fault, he knew that. The path she had tread that led her to this moment was beyond any judgment he could offer. Her Inquisitor, Farragut, might have been her savior for all he knew. Whichever way it went, whether she idolized or simply feared Inquisitors, something had her paralyzed. He recognized that look on her face all too well.

"Get some shuteye" he told her, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat. She groaned faintly and stood back up.

"Inquisitor Jadus… wants me to bring up more water."

"Take a minute first. Throne knows you need it."

Her noncommittal grunt told him nothing, but he pressed on into the hallway. Jadus's lack of patience was already making itself known in the form of a rapid thumping noise. When Louk entered the front room he found the Inquisitor standing over the desk, the chest from the drawer open before him. A greedy gleam shone in his eyes. Picking one of the gems at random, he held it up against the light.

"I take it you were the one who opened this chest" he said, not bothering to acknowledge Louk's entrance.

"I found it, yes."

"So good of you to inform me of its presence." The man dropped the gem back into the chest and closed it. He turned back to Louk and gave him a very meaningful glare. "You were not thinking of pillaging this loot for yourself, surely. No, a good and honest Imperial citizen would not dare to think of hiding such treasure from the rightful authorities."

"I've never been accused of those faults before" he growled back. His own eyes went to the chest, betraying interest that was already well known. It was bound to happen eventually. Inquisitor Jadus had a nose for things, that much had been made clear to him. "And there were more important things to do than look at some shiny."

The Inquisitor gave a dry, rasping chuckle that set the hairs on his arms standing on edge. Drawing his special pistol, he laid it on the table beside the chest. So far as Louk had been able to tell, the man carried three pistols, four blades of varying lengths, and some sort of book that had a chain securing it closed. Of the assemblage, the book was probably the most dangerous thing he was carrying. Helsing carried a book too. He had obliterated a Warp daemon with it. The daemon did not die easy either. It had screamed like a bitch as the words Helsing spoke from the tome did things that put shivers down Louk's spine.

"_Shiny_, is it? Of course a mere man such as yourself wouldn't know what to do with this bounty. I will put it to much better use than you ever could. So consider the chest forgotten. If I see you looking anywhere near it, I will…"

"Yeah, yeah" he interrupted, not caring if it angered the Inquisitor. The constant threats had lost their impression on him. It was hard to intimidate a man who knew he was already dead. "You'll shoot me without a second thought."

His words pleased the Inquisitor. Nodding silently, he regarded Louk with an expression more commonly seen on a teacher's face when the student finally learned the problem. The lesson had been taught, and so the man said nothing more on the matter.

Louk moved past the desk and approached the door. He felt along the lock, double-checking that the seal was correctly in place. It was a pointless exercise, but one that gave him something to do while he waited for the inevitable gloating of the Inquisitor. Jadus had been eyeing him like a hawk since entering the building. There was something beyond hostility in that gaze, he was starting to learn. There was a devious element to it that hinted at some other plan or purpose.

"Any trouble from outside?"

"None that is readily visible." Jadus glowered at him. "Care to take a look?"

"No, I'm good. Too busy forgetting about the xenos rocks you are definitely not trying to sneak under the table. " Louk winked slyly at the Inquisitor, showing a cheeriness that he did not feel. Without Helsing's clout, those gems would be useless to him. He wouldn't be able to move them through the Imperial lines by himself. At best he would lose most to bribes, at worst he could end up on a pyre.

But feck all if he wasn't going to piss on this asshat's parade while he still could.

"Xenos gems?" The look of shock and disgust that rippled across his face should have been etched in marble for all eternity. Inquisitor Jadus stepped hurriedly away from the chest, but not before snatching up his pistol and shoving it back into its holster. "What do you know that I do not?"

"Those gems are the same ones they are wearing around their necks" he answered, gesturing to his throat. "Thought a sharp-eyed boss like you would have figured that out off the bat."

"Unlike you" Jadus hissed, fury replacing his revulsion, "I do not drool over xenos women."

A snappy reply came to mind, but Louk forced it down. He could only handle so much trouble at a time. Offering little more than a shrug, he closed the chest and returned it to the drawer. The Inquisitor made no move to stop him, and in fact seemed a touch relieved when the drawer closed.

"Have you anything else to declare at this time? Anything of _relevancy_."

"Nah, that's all I've got" Louk promised, holding up his hands in appeasement. "Nothing I can think of, at least."

"Hmm…"

Both men turned to walk down the hallway. Louk allowed the Inquisitor to walk first, and studied his back as they moved towards the cell room. He had a lot of questions about the man, but none that seemed answerable. The primary one, the one that he wondered about more than the other mysteries about Jadus, was the question of which Inquisitorial Ordo he belonged to. Helsing was Ordo Xenos. He knew all about the various xenos races in the sector and put quite a bit of effort into researching them. Jadus did not strike him as a member of the Xenos persuasion. Not with the abject hatred he held for their kind. A humanist to the core, he was.

"I can hear your brain boiling" Jadus announced suddenly, halting midstride and rounding on Louk. The rogue had to take a step back to avoid slamming into the larger man. "Whatever is going through that piddling mind of yours, spit it out before you have a hemorrhage."

"You don't have many friends, do you" Louk said. The Inquisitor stared at him, motionless, waiting for the inevitable question. "Fine. You aren't Ordo Xenos, are you?"

"Ah, there it is." Jadus nodded. "No, I am not."

"Then what are you?"

Jadus exhaled slowly, somehow turning even that simple action into a sneering rebuke. "I am a man that follows the God-Emperor's will. Where there are xenos, there are heretics. These xenos are not the only ones fighting against righteous Imperial forces here. I am investigating what turned the Colonel Russo from the path of truth."

"Hereticus then." Louk nodded slowly, understanding fitting the pieces together. "That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"The Holy Inquisition does not _stretch_" Jadus said with a scowl. "We go precisely where we mean to."

He turned on his heel and retreated to the cell room, leaving Louk in the hallway with one less question, but more confirmed doubts. Ordo Hereticus, of course. A muted grumble died in his throat, and he followed in the Inquisitor's wake, if only to ensure no trouble broke out between the Inquisitor and the Eldar. Bloodbath was still a weighted option in the narrow confines of this building. A less-claustrophobic man might have been jittery by now. But Louk was used to cramped conditions; the hive had been just like this. Worse, actually, because people dumped their garbage and refuse in the streets. At least here the floors were clean.

Getta was snoring loudly on a chair against the wall, her head bowed over her chest and her hands hanging by her sides. The sound coming out of her mouth reminded Louk of a chainsword grinding through a table. Even beautiful people could be pretty messy. A little smile worked its way across his face. That was a woman who did not deserve to be in this nightmare. But she was putting up with it all better than he would have thought.

"Mind if I tap out for a minute" he asked the Inquisitor.

Jadus graced him with a nod, so he threw himself into a chair and closed his eyes. A few minutes of sleep would do him some good. He let his mind wander as he tried to find that center of calm that would allow him to drop out of consciousness. He thought about the Inquisitor's entrance, the two slain _Druchii_ Eldar in the basement. How had someone not come looking for them yet? Were they really leaders, or was Jadus merely showing bluster to appear more in-control? Why had they come in so secretively, without the pomp and ceremony he had expected to be faced with?

Why had they broken the woman's arms and cut out her tongue?

That last question jolted him out of his spiral into relaxation. Louk tensed, surprised by his reaction to such a simple question. He had thought nothing of it at first, just assumed it was part of the torture they were putting her through. But it made no sense beside the other wounds they had inflicted. The whip was a tool for maximizing pain. It was brutal, sharp, and caused incredible amounts of pain while doing little real damage. That was the tool of a sadist. The pleasure of the whip lay in causing the victim to cry out. Without a tongue, that pleasure was muted, literally. It ruined the point. Ageless xenos did not seem like the kind to do things without reason.

There had to be a reason why they had done that.

He realized he had gotten up to go stand over the woman when Jadus's biting tone nearly made him leap out of his skin. The Inquisitor appeared at his side, hawkish eyes stabbing into him as if he could truly see the inner working of Louk's mind. Taking a quick step back, he forced his hands to remain at his side.

"You really don't have to self control to remain away from this beast, do you, scum?"

"I was wondering why they broke her arms" he answered, ignoring the jab. He did not expect the Inquisitor to care, but to his surprise Jadus looked down at the woman's arms and adopted a thoughtful expression. Almost a full minute of silence passed, with Louk regarding the Inquisitor as a hare regarded a hawk. When the Inquisitor spoke, the words that came out were not at all what he had expected.

"What are a leader's primary tools?"

"Sir?" Louk blinked slowly and looked from the woman to Jadus.

"How does a leader command?" The Inquisitor did not appear entirely upset with his lack of understanding. Instead he seemed to be approaching this like a lesson. "A leader's primary tools are the voice and the hands. Remove those, and a leader is helpless to direct their troops. Eldar leaders are witches. This was theirs, and so the foe removed her ability to lead. My guess would be it was in reprisal to her defensive actions. Or merely a method of humiliation. In addition to those methods of communication, however, one must take into account the fact that as a witch, she can used a third means of directing her troops. Hence the collar-device, though from what I observe its purpose appears twofold: suppressing her power while also inflicting pain. A most useful device, to be sure." He huffed and turned away. "Were it not of xenos origin, of course."

"So they did it to neutralize her."

"These beasts are decadent beyond imagining. Who knows how their cruel and pitiless minds work? Perhaps so, or perhaps they did it for the sport of it. What difference does it make?"

Louk watched the Eldar woman fidgeting in her sleep. She did not rest easily. Little twitches, grimaces at the corners of her mouth, trembling of her eyelids, they all pointed to the collar's torment that the Inquisitor spoke of. Thinking about the pain made him shudder. What made it worse was that he knew it would not be going away anytime soon.

"Guess it doesn't make a difference" he said at last, drawing a long breath as he spoke. "Now that the bastard is dead and the damage is done."

"It almost sounds like you sympathize for the beast."

"Pain is pain." Louk shook his head and went to go sit down. "All creatures feels pain."

"Yes, that is true." Jadus looked over at the cells filled with Eldar. "They are just as susceptible to it as we are. That is something to remember."

Deciding to not reply, Louk attempted once again to drift off to sleep. This time it came easily, though it did not remain so. He dreamt of a collar that emitted stabbing pain, black-armored figures that walked in shadows, a burning pyre whose flames felt so real. The skin melted from his flesh, his throat compressed until he could not breathe. Faces emerged and withered away from his sight. Getta begged him, why had he led them to their deaths. Jadus stood accusingly over his corpse, archeotech pistol smoking. Angry Eyes and the Eldar judged him from behind bars of shimmering glass. The gems around their throats burned with witchfire, licking at the air with hungry tongues as they shielded an unlit, darker gem that had been cracked down the middle.

And then Helsing knelt beside him, face dirty and haggard. The power armor he wore had new scrapes and dents on it. His storm bolter coughed and hissed as it chambered new rounds. He looked remarkably healthy for a dead man.

_That is because I am not dead_, Helsing said, his voice muffled, echoing through Louk's mind like the thunder of a waterfall.

_If only_, Louk whispered back, speaking through burned lips. Each breath caused him to groan as his incinerated lungs battled to draw air. He lifted a mangled hand, scorched to the bone, and looked towards the Inquisitor that had pulled him from the hell of the hive world. He owed the man his life and more. And now that debt could never be repaid.

_Pay attention you fecking halfwit,_ the Inquisitor snapped. _You are not dreaming, not at the moment. We have reached the entrance of the catacombs. Resistance is crumbling before us, but the Guard forces have suffered significantly. I do not know how long it will take to reach the city. What is your situation?_

_Wait, you really aren't dead?_

_Of course I'm not dead!_ The anger of sleepless nights and long battles bled through his tone. It sounded so real, as if he were just on the other side of a door. _Who in Throne's… it doesn't matter. What is going on in there? Something seems to have the defenders off-balance. Is that your doing?_

_Uh… maybe. I was told you had been killed._

_Answer my question!_

_Right, sorry._ If Louk's face hadn't melted away he might have grinned. A lightness surged through his chest and hope slipped through the cracks in his bones. That duplicitous bastard of an Inquisitor had lied to him. _Well then, you could say we're in a bit of a bind. There are two sorts of Eldar here. I think they are from different clans or something. But one side took out the other, and we've killed two of the current overlords. 88__th__ Penal Legion makes the defenders, at least some of them. And I saw a handful of other xenos I couldn't recognize._

_What do you mean, _we_?_ Helsing conveyed his curiosity with a soothing wind that calmed the agony that wracked Louk's broken form.

_There's three of us here. Myself, Getta from Farragut's crew, and Jadus_.

_Who from Jadus' retinue? Has he caused trouble?_

_Not someone from his crew. Jadus himself is here. He came into the city on his own._

_Throne damn that man! _The fury of Louk's Inquisitor boiled the air. Louk knew better than to fear, but it still made him uneasy. When Helsing grew angry, he unleashed terrible power. _Can you handle him?_

_Handle? I'm not exactly up to task right now. Eldar warrior gave me a shit beating before I finished the fecker off._

_Are you stuck with him?_

_We kind of ended up locked in a building together._

Helsing had picked up a veritable library of curse words in his time with the Inquisition. Louk reckoned he spewed out just about all of them in the next few minutes. The psychic backlash of rage seared his exposed nerves.

_Do what you can to stay alive until we get there. The assault is renewing so I will leave you. Throne protect you, Reaper._

The Inquisitor's face faded into nothing, leaving Louk surrounded by blackness. With the Inquisitor's departure came a wave of cold balm that restored his body and reknit his broken bones. He could have sworn he heard the faint echoes of a choir chanting in some far off location. He heard voices, some strong, others fearful. His shattered fingers curled into fists and he took a long, heartfelt breath. It had been several days since he could breathe that deeply. The sudden rush of air was overwhelming, exhilarating.

And then he woke up.

The first thing he noticed was that his side was no longer hurting. Well, not as badly as it had been. Compared to before, the aching that plagued him now rated just above that of the annoyance of feathers tickling his skin. He took a slow, cautious breath, much like the one in his dream. Or had it been a dream? Helsing was still alive. That news brought a glorious sense of relief that tore the weight from his shoulders. All he had to do was hold out until Helsing arrived. Entrance of the catacombs, he said. They were making much better progress than he would have thought. Another day or two and they would be free. He just had to survive that long.

Any elation he might have felt was quickly doused by Jadus's appearance in front of him. The Inquisitor wore a fierce scowl on his face and had one hand on a pistol.

"What in blazes were you doing" he demanded.

"…sleeping?"

That was clearly not the answer the Inquisitor was looking for. The pistol came up and Louk discovered just how well the Inquisitor cleaned his weapons. The inside of the barrel glowed from whatever infernal source powered the weapon's mechanisms. Sweet heat lapped at his nose, bathing him in warmth that made his eyes cross. His forehead itched, and he realized with a start that he was reacting to the Inquisitor's special pistol.

"Psychic residue" Jadus murmured, his scowl deepening. "Who were you speaking to? Who was it?"

"I… don't know." Louk made a show of wincing in the face of the sidearm's heat. "I thought I was dreaming."

To be fair, that was for all intents and purposes true. That sliver of honesty gave his words enough credence to satisfy the Inquisitor's darker urges, and he lowered the pistol. Not all the way, of course. It remained aimed at his gut, ready to put a hole in him at a moment's notice.

"Someone was spying on us" Jadus muttered. His gaze tore through the room, scouring the Eldar for signs of maliciousness. Finding none, he directed Louk's attention to Getta. The Scintillan was still sleeping, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "Something happened here, just now. I do not know if it came from the enemy or not, but I will take no chances. Go check on the front door. And hold yourself ready for war. I fear whether intended for good or ill, that presence may have alerted our enemies to our position."

"Yeah, because two disappeared xenos isn't worth blinking at" Louk grumbled. He pulled himself to his feet, nearly overbalancing as he expected to have some hesitation. His unsightly lurching drew a raised eyebrow from the Inquisitor. He would have been a fool to not notice how the badly wounded rogue was suddenly handling himself better. That clearly would not raise suspicion from a hunter of heresy. Just to be safe, he moved as quickly out of the cell room as he could. He stopped only to gather his lascarbine and a pair of grenades from their little stack beside the hallway door. Jadus had declared they would not leave those out front just in case they were not able to recover them as they fell back. Made sense, all things considered. Louk knew all too well how easy it was to forget things in the heat of combat.

It felt good to be able to walk without leaning against a wall for support. A shiver built up inside his chest as he approached the entrance to the front room. Every time… maybe this would break his streak.

_BBBBBRRRRRRAAAAANNNNNGGGG_

"Fecking-mother-of-shite-piss-on-a-bucket-of-cock-sucker-bitch!"

Louk cursed at the blamed door, willing it to catch on fire and boil the innards of whoever stood on the other side. The buzzer rang incessantly. Someone was leaning on that for all they were worth. On a scale of one-to-_shitshitshit_, that rated about two shits. Someone on the other side wanted in badly. That could not possibly be a good thing. The noise drew the Inquisitor, who appeared with two pistols brandished. They exchanged a short look.

"I really, really hate that door" the rogue growled. Jadus shook his head in distaste.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later. Ready your weapons, scum. This time there will be no talking."

"Works for me." Louk handled one of the grenades. "You open, I chuck?"

Receiving only a deadpan glower in reply, Louk stood to the side and allowed Inquisitor Jadus to take the lead. With luck, he might get his head blown off and spare Louk the trouble. Odds were not good, but it was always nice to hold onto hope. He drew his autopistol in the other hand just in case. Then, thinking better of it, he replaced it and drew another grenade. Whoever was on the other side of that door was about to get a double dose of damnation right in the face.

"Prepare yourself" Jadus ordered. He held the hand cannon in a tight grip, ready to raise and fire at a moment's notice. The lock clicked loudly as he slid it back. Louk touched the primer studs on the grenades and held his thumbs down. Three second fuses. Just enough for him to lob them out the door and slam it shut again.

"Ding dong, motherfecker" Louk muttered, pressing his back to the wall beside the door. Rogue and Inquisitor exchanged a look. For the briefest moment there was no disdain in Jadus' eyes. This was combat, and as much of a peacock as the man was, he understood that Louk had some skill in this arena.

Wrenching the door back, the Inquisitor braced his feet to stop the door's momentum even as he drew it from its frame. Louk did not bother checking to see who stood on the other side. A blur of black-armored figures holding weapons backed by a dozen armored human forms swam through his vision in the instant it took him to lob both grenades around the corner at their feet. The hissing crack of several discharges split the air. Something caught Louk in the tip of the shoulder, catching and tearing at his flesh so painfully that he let out a shocked gasp. His whole arm went numb, falling limp to his side, and he threw himself backwards to avoid the hail of fire that slammed into the wall above him.

Inquisitor Jadus drove his shoulder into the door and forced it closed, firing his hand cannon blindly around the corner as he did. One of Louk's grenades bounced against the door, launched by a lucky or extremely skilled kick, but it was too far closed to roll through. Instead it ricocheted up into the air, where it exploded at chest height in the faces of the enemy. The paired blasts barely sounded through the thick door, but as Louk lay on the floor and listened he could hear the faintest touch of shrieking. A cruel smile formed on his lips and he pictured the ruined bodies of their foes outside.

That smile vanished when the Inquisitor turned on him and without any pomp or ceremony, whipped out a knife, and stabbed him in the shoulder. Before Louk could even rationalize the mind-splitting agony that accompanied the knife thrust, the Inquisitor dug the blade in deep and sliced off a sizable chunk of skin. The rogue howled loudly and clutched at his bloody arm, rolling away from the Inquisitor and groping helplessly for his pistol. He didn't need to draw it, as it turned out, because Jadus was not attempting to kill him. He stood over Louk, holding the ragged strip of flesh he had torn away. Some sort of mesh razor-wire had embedded itself into his skin. He shuddered at the sight of it. Barbs everywhere, ingeniously designed so that any movement he would have made would have driven it further into his flesh.

"Even their weapons are designed to torture" Jadus observed, tossing the bloody hunk of meat to the side. He wiped his fingers clean on Louk's pants. "We should set about securing this room now. Without a doubt, they will bring up reinforcements and attempt to take us by force. I would assume heavy ordinance may be in our future."

"Give me a minute" Louk panted, teeth clenching as he fought to contain the scream that threatened to pour from his lungs. He clutched his shoulder and rolled to his feet, staggering against the desk in the process. His wounded arm remained numb at his side, whether by shock or by poison he did not know. What he did know was that he had just lost the use of his primary hand. And right when he was starting to heal up too. Throne damn it.

"Get that patched up" Jadus ordered. "And wake our companion from her slumber. She has had enough rest."

Louk nodded and gingerly made his way back to the cell room. Angry Eyes rose to her feet as he entered, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the way he held his shoulder. There was no disguising the flow of blood that had reached his elbow at this point, staining his stolen uniform a dark red. A harsh gasp sounded from the direction of the side room. Getta stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth. She stared at the wound in horror.

"What happened?"

"Two grenades and a smile." Louk joked, feeling decidedly unhappy with the way things were going. At least the woman did not need to be told what to do. She rushed him to a chair and gathered up bandages and medicine. On exposing the extent of the damage she froze. Thoughts raced across her face and she retreated into the side room without a word.

"They know we're here now" he called out after her. "Had a bit of a scrape with some more of those _Druchii _bastards."

At the mention of _druchii _the Eldar in the cells hissed and glanced towards the hallway. Louk calmly lifted a hand and motioned for Angry Eyes to stand down. She understood and barked a curt order to still the others. The one with the pistol tucked it back into his robe, borrowed from a helpful buddy to give the weapon some form of concealment. It was not the time to be showing those just yet. Not until the bad guys came storming down that hallway.

"You are a magnet for trouble" Getta chided as she reappeared with a dusty bottle of spirits. Louk's attention snapped to the bottle. Two emotions roiled in his chest at the sight of the wine: excitement at the chance to drink it, and resignation at the knowledge that some of that was about to be poured straight onto the strip of exposed nerves where Jadus had sawed his skin off. "Throne! What happened to you this time?"

"The Eldar don't like my smile" he said, bracing himself for the rush of pain that was about to swamp his nerves. It came quickly and without mercy. The Scintillan did not idle away her time with soothing words or promises. She ripped the cork from the bottle and poured a good half of it onto his shoulder. He screamed into closed lips, cursing the woman in a mighty way for not having the foresight to offer him a swig first.

"Sit still" came the scolding. Any reply he had in store could not make it past the instinctual yelping that he battled against. Understanding his silence for what it was, Getta said nothing more. She bandaged him up with minimal commentary. When she finished wrapping him up he could hardly move his arm. There had to be at least an inch thick wrap all the way around it. Better to keep it in place to heal up, but obnoxious all the same. She had cut his sleeve off to make room, revealing the badly scarred flesh of his arm. The sight of so many scars gave her pause. A grim look had crossed her eyes, memories from her previous life perhaps flitting through her mind. She knew defensive wounds when she saw them.

"How many times have you been patched up" she asked him, voice quiet and somber.

"Too many for a human being to count."

Giving her a thankful slap on the arm, he rose and looked towards the hallway. Inquisitor Jadus stalked out with his characteristic impatience, seeking out the two of them. He spent a heartbeat examining Getta's work before addressing the woman directly.

"I want any remaining materials down below brought up now. I do not know what the foe's plan is, but we are under siege now and I want to be prepared for anything. Ventilation systems are internally sealed now, yes?"

"They are" Louk assured him. "Checked it myself just a little while ago."

"Good. Are the beasts secured?"

"Sir?"

Jadus pointed to the Eldar witch. "She is too much of a threat to leave at our backs. Dispose of her."

Louk gaped at the Inquisitor, not quite comprehending the man's order. A thick blanket of silence fell across the room, bathing them all in the uncomfortable sensation of being able to count the collected breaths of the inhabitants. The Eldar in the cells remained blessedly quiet, giving him the time to wrap his mind around the severity of the situation. Was the Inquisitor out of his mind?

"Sir… if we do that we are going to have a hell of a lot of trouble from these other ones. They aren't going to sit back and let us do it."

"Is there something you know that I do not" Jadus demanded, eyes glittering darkly. "They are locked up, and as far as I can tell no one has the keys here. No one that has come forward with them…"

Knowing it would be better to say nothing, he took a deep breath and shot back "This woman is the only thing keeping them complacent. I don't know what you've heard about Eldar before, but I've heard all about how they are powerful foes. They may be locked up, yes, but for all we know they can break out of those bars in the time it takes me to snap my fingers."

The Inquisitor's ever-threatening pistol came out but remained loose at his side. Fixing Louk with a murderous glare, he waited for the span of several seconds before speaking. "Are you refusing to obey my orders?"

It was such a quiet, slithering tone that Louk's spine tightened. He winced noticeably, feeling the metal digging against his nerves. The pain could not have been missed, and Jadus shook his head in wonder.

"You truly are a stubborn waif. Just like your master. Take that witch downstairs and kill her. Do not worry your insignificant mind with these others."

The xenos all turned to stare at him, waiting to see how he would respond. He refused to look back, knowing that would sign his death warrant. Instead he swallowed back the cold sensation that came creeping up his throat and shuffled over to the woman's table. She was awake, and stared at him with those deep blue eyes that managed to be both pleading and reserved at the same time. The Eldar lacked the energy to do anything but part her lips and exhale slowly. A tortured wheeze slipped out from her ruby lips, a sign that she remained in great pain despite the strong show she held onto.

Could he kill her? He knew that, realistically, it would take so little effort that it would be shameful not to. A simple pinch would close her damaged throat and cut of her air. A knife under her ear, directed upwards at a thirty degree angle. Lean her facedown in an open container of water for her to drown. Shoot her in the head. There were so many easy ways to do it. That was all he had to do to survive. Just kill the woman.

But he could not do that. Not now, not with the knowledge that Helsing was on his way. Angry Eyes would kill him for sure if he carried out the Inquisitor's orders. And even if she did not, he knew he could never forgive himself for such an act. He had crossed many, many lines in his time. This was not one that he relished breaking. This was the kind of thing that would irrecoverably damn his soul. He wasn't religious, but he knew damn well that the afterlife was a place he did not want to be enter with a black mark.

There really was only one way to proceed from here. Louk motioned for Getta to assist him. With only one functional hand, he did not have the ability to take the woman down the stairs even if he wanted to. She knew that, as did Inquisitor Jadus, who turned away with a satisfied scowl on his face. Free of the man's watchful gaze, Louk risked a short glance over towards Angry Eyes. One of her pale hands lay hidden behind her back, clutching the pistol that could end his life in the blink of an eye.

His good hand fished around in his pocket. His grasping fingers found the object of his search and he casually pulled it free, palming it to hide it from view. This was it, he realized with a pit-sinking churning in his stomach. He might be about to die, but at least he was going to die with a clear conscience.

A quiet command to Getta sent her scurrying to the side room for some form of a stretcher. The Scintillan trembled as she moved, just as upset with the situation as he was. But she was not going to disobey the Inquisitor. She was too afraid to act.

When both of their backs were turned he reached out to the Eldar woman's throat and pressed the finger over the activation stud. The woman's eyes burst wide open, her head jerking forward and up as white flashed green. He did not draw the collar off immediately, but pressed it together to prevent the same psychic explosion from before. Their eyes met and he nodded to her. She read through the hundred different thoughts tearing through his mind and plucked out the single one that mattered, the one that would change his fate forever.

Closing her eyes, the woman drew her power into herself and gave the subtlest nod. Louk eased the collar off, shoulders sagging with relief when the psychic wave did not come crashing out. He hardly felt any change at all, just a sudden prickling of his skin.

"If you are worried about the xenos in these cells" Jadus said suddenly, turning back to him. The collar remained hidden under the woman's neck, out of sight. He did not notice it. But he did hold a live grenade in his hand. "This will take care of that."

The Inquisitor turned to lob the grenade into the cell even as the Eldar leapt to their feet in horror. Coarse shouts exploded from a half-dozen throats. Witchfire burst forth from the Eldar woman on the table, engulfing the room in violet flames. Weapons drew in flashes of steel. A pistol thundered in the confines of the cell room and blood sprayed high into the air. A woman screamed. The grenade bounced along the ground.

The last thing Louk remembered was diving for the explosive, hurling his body over it and screaming for everyone in the room to get clear.


End file.
